


Inside Your Bones

by thedeathchamber



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Louis, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Past Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathchamber/pseuds/thedeathchamber
Summary: Louis keeps trying to make peace with his past, but it’s hard when the past is all too present.+ Daemons AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All you need to know on _daemons_ as conceived by Philip Pullman in 'His Dark Materials' series: 
> 
> \- Daemons are physical manifestations of the inner self. They take the form of animals with human intelligence and speech. They are able to change form at will during childhood until they _settle_ into their final form - it is impossible to choose either the time of settling or the final form.  
> \- Daemons must stay within meters of their human, except in the case of witches.  
> \- While daemons do interact with one another, touching another person's daemon is taboo and abominable; and daemons won't interact with any human outside their own except in cases of a very close relationship between the humans.
> 
> *I borrowed the idea of _stretching_ from this [lovely fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068233) In the story it refers to the process people with certain daemons - usually larger ones or those in the form of aquatic animals - generally undergo to be able to separate a greater distance from their daemon, which allows them to function better in society.
> 
>  -
> 
> Although there is no graphic violence, please heed the tags. 
> 
> -
> 
> Finally, thank you to [Juli](http://femlouis.tumblr.com/) for the test read and emotional support needed for me to go ahead and post this!  
> And thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments in my fics in the past. Even though I don't get around to answering half of them, I read them and cherish them all so much. Truly. Thank you. 
> 
> Hopefully someone might enjoy this fic too. (Please let me know if you do!)
> 
> -
> 
> [Post on Tumblr.](http://louehvolution.tumblr.com/post/182766240396/inside-your-bones-pairing-louis-tomlinsonomc)

“You know those aren’t Skittles, right?”

Louis doesn’t answer, shaking a couple of pills onto his palm then tossing the bottle back into his open suitcase on the floor, where it lands with a rattle of loose pills. Sat on the edge of the bed, he wraps an arm around his middle, pressing the palm of his hand against his sore side for a moment before reaching for the water bottle next to him.

“You’re really not supposed to snack on those like it’s trail mix, you know?” Alithis insists with strained levity.

Louis hums in response as he drinks, washing down the pills.

“ _Louis_.”

Louis meets his daemon’s dark, liquid eyes. “It hurts,” he says simply.

Alithis lays her head on his thigh with a sigh, closing her eyes as she nuzzles against his stomach. “I know.”

A small Roe deer with a pale brown coat, his daemon is as tall at the shoulder as the bed, and slight, angular except at the rump, with its short, white tush. Resting one hand between her delicate ears, Louis holds the other tight against his chest in a loose fist as he takes a deep breath. A lingering scent of perfume weighs down the air in the room.

“I wish Niall could have come, or Luke,” Alithis murmurs. “It’d be good for you to have company.”

Tearing his eyes away from the framed photograph on the bedside table, Louis shakes his head. “I would have had to book weeks ago for a chance at Niall—business is booming," he says with a wry smile. "And I wasn’t going to let Luke waste any of his days off from the residency to come down here.”

Alithis makes a noncommittal noise, and heads toward the door without another word. “It’s late, let’s find something to eat.”

Louis casts another look at the photograph—in which a man somewhere in his thirties has his arm around an older woman, and a little girl no older than four perched on his hip—before following his daemon out of the bedroom and downstairs. His eyes stray to the piano in the living room, but he goes straight into the kitchen, where Alithis has nosed into a cupboard.

“I found canned soup. It’s vegetable—you like that one.”

“I tolerate it.” Louis' lips quirk. "Barely."

Alithis rolls her eyes. “That'll have to do; you need to eat something,” she says firmly.

Louis searches through all the drawers for a can opener, with inexplicable growing agitation when he can’t find one. Cupboards and drawers still gaping open, he leans against the countertop, holding tight onto his crossed arms as he fights the sudden urge to cry.

“Why don’t you order in?” Alithis suggests. “Pizza?”

He gives a small shake of his head. “I feel sick.”

“Maybe there’s some chamomile tea. Old people always have tea in their house, don’t they?”

Louis breathes out a weak laugh. “Alright,” he says, rubbing the sting from his eyes. “Let me have a look.”

He finds a box with a few tea bags left, and rinses out a mug as he waits for the water to boil.

“No sugar?”

“No one’s lived in the house for weeks, everything that could spoil or attract bugs was cleared out,” Louis tells her as he pours water into the mug.

“That's smart. I don't miss the ants, actually." Alithis looks about, double checking there aren't any. "And that tea's still good without, right?”

"It'll have to do," Louis replies in a teasing echo of her earlier words.

"Funny."

He smiles faintly as he prods at the tea bag with a spoon. “Remember the time you tried shifting into an anteater to get rid of the ants?”

Alithis gives a theatrical shudder, from head to rump. "We were _five_. I didn't know any better."

Giggling, Louis sets the spoon down and picks up the mug, gingerly because of the heat. But moving from the countertop to go sit at the table, his grip on the mug slips and he drops it, the mug shattering. “ _Shit._ ”

Alithis dances around the scattered ceramic shards and the hot tea. “Be careful, don’t step on it!”

Unable to find a dustpan or a broom, Louis tries to clean up the mess with some paper towels, using his hand to sweep the pieces into a pile. On the third sweep, a burning pain flares across his palm, and a red stain spreads on the paper towels. "Oh for god's sake." He holds his hand up to inspect the cut running up the outer edge of his palm to the crease between his pinkie and ring finger, blood welling up and spilling when he curls his fingers toward his palm.

“Get it under the water,” Alithis urges as Louis gets to his feet.

Instead, Louis wraps his hand in his tee shirt and rushes out of the kitchen, Alithis scampering behind him. The cement path that leads from the front door to the street is still warm from the afternoon sun, but damp under his bare feet. He swears under his breath again when the car fob fails.

“You’ve gone three months without!” Alithis whines at his side as Louis struggles to open the car door with his left hand. “Don’t.”

Louis hesitates, mouth twisted to the side and hand still on the door handle.

“Hey, you OK there?”

Louis turns toward the source of the voice in surprise. Standing at the edge of the front yard of the house next door, the man raises a hand in greeting, a small smile on his face though his brow is furrowed. Louis tugs his shirt down automatically, wincing when he stretches out the cut on his hand.

“Hurt your hand?” The man steps onto the sidewalk, abandoning the garden hose on the grass. His daemon, a dark chestnut Clydesdale draft mare with white feathering on its legs and a white stripe on its face, watches without coming closer. “I can take a look at that if you like. I’m trained in first aid.”

Louis holds his injured hand to his chest, where he can feel it bleeding into his shirt. “Thank you, but it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“It’s no trouble, honestly.” Staring at the blood stains on his shirt, the man makes a face. “You definitely need to wrap that up.”

Up close he stands several inches taller than Louis, and much broader at the chest and shoulders, the sleeves of his tee shirt stretching over defined muscle. “I’m Michael.” He holds his hands out, palms up, smiling playfully. “My parents have lived here for four years now—I’m not a serial killer, I promise.”

Louis releases his breath in a soft laugh. “That’s what a serial killer would say.”

Michael’s laugh has the same slight rasp to it as his voice. “Come on, my sister taught me how to bandage, let me do her proud?”

Louis can't bring himself to refuse.

Michael leads Louis into the house after turning off the garden hose, leaving his sandals in the entrance hall. “I apologise for the decor. I had nothing to do with it, I’m just house sitting.” He has a toothy smile, and Louis finds himself relaxing a little—until he has Michael sat right in front of him, taking Louis’ hand in his own to clean and bandage the wound.

“What happened, anyway?” Michael asks.

“I dropped a mug, and I couldn’t find a broom—” Louis makes a face as Michael rinses the cut out with some saline solution. “Trying to make dinner was a bit of a disaster, to be honest.”

Michael chuckles. "It happens—Sorry, I know it stings. You’ve got your shots up to date?”

“Probably?”

A corner of Michael's mouth pulls up in amusement, though he remains focused on securing the bandage. “OK.” He signs for Louis to test it out. “You might still want drive up to the clinic tomorrow. My sister is a nurse there, you can ask for her—”

“So she she can see your handiwork?”

Michael lets out a laugh. “To be honest, it’s not really about making her proud, I want to prove her wrong—she insists I wasn’t a great student.” He leans back in the chair, an arm resting on the table, his attention all on Louis. “A bit of sibling rivalry. You know what I mean?”

Louis shakes his head, feeling the texture of the bandaging with the pads of his fingers. “I have a sister, but I’m much older than her, so it’s never really been like that between us.”

Michael nods in understanding. “My sister and I are quite competitive, not going to lie. But we’re still really close… A united front against our cousins.”

Louis is startled into a laugh, and he finds himself sharing a smile with Michael. And getting caught in the moment, forgetting himself for an instant at Michael's warm smile and open, kindly gaze. Flustered, he ducks his head, and starts twisting the string of his joggers around his fingers.

With a light nudge to Louis' knee with his own, Michael gets Louis to look up at him again. “It’s about time for dinner," he says, still smiling warmly. "You OK with pasta? Butter and Parmesan sauce sound good?” he asks as he starts to clear up the first aid kit.

“What?”

“I’m asking you to stay for dinner, Louis.” Michael replies plainly, as he sweeps the bandage cuttings and wrapper onto his palm, and fastens the lid on the first aid box shut.

Louis glances at Alithis where she had settled by the window, and she nods eagerly.

“I’m guessing the last thing you feel like doing is cooking, after this mishap. And if you had a long drive to get here?”

“A few hours. Longer than I expected,” Louis admits.

Michael gives an emphatic nod. “It’s decided, then. Do you like olives?” he asks, standing up and reaching for the bowl of bloodied water on the table. “I can open a jar while the pasta cooks. Though it won’t take long, I promise.”

His smile is bright. And Louis bites his lip, torn. “You’ve already gone to so much trouble…” Alithis sends him a warning look, but Louis continues, worrying at a bit of dried blood on the bottom hem of his tee shirt. “All I need is a can opener, if you’ve got one.”

Michael exchanges a quick look with his daemon, a faint line between his eyebrows, before turning back to Louis. “Please?” he says simply. “I hate eating alone. And I love to show off my cooking.”

Louis can’t help but return his smile, and hesitate—his expression transparent enough that Michael breaks into a grin before Louis opens his mouth to agree.

“Why don’t I find you something else to wear so you’re not covered in blood, and I’ll get started on dinner while you change. It won’t take long.” He disappears for a minute—his steps thundering as he sprints up the stairs—and returns with a tee shirt, folded and smelling fresh out of the dryer. “The kitchen is right around the corner—” he says as he shows Louis to the bathroom. “If you need any help, just give me a shout.” His serious tone is offset by a flash of teeth and a chuckle.

Louis breathes a shy laugh into his bandaged hand. “I think I’ll manage.”

The silence in the bathroom the next minute is almost disconcerting for a moment, and he is second guessing his decision to stay as he pulls on Michael’s tee shirt. Though most of his clothes are a bit big on him, Michael’s shirt looks huge.

“It’s a nice colour on you,” Alithis says, matter-of-fact, coaxing a smile out of him. But it's short lived, as he turns to the mirror and sets about fixing his hair.

Alithis rubs her head against his thigh. “It’s just dinner.”

Louis nods, smoothing down the tee shirt over his front. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

 

The kitchen is loud with the hiss of the boiling water and the hot pan as Michael slides butter from a board onto it. He doesn’t hear Louis come in, but his daemon turns and butts her head against his shoulder to alert him of Louis' presence.

“Hey—” Michael seems to falter for an instant when he catches sight of Louis, looking him up and down. “OK?” he asks, eyes darting down to his chest when Louis adjusts the collar of the tee shirt where it slips to one side, exposing his collarbones.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“No problem. It’ll be just a few more minutes for dinner.” He points to the kitchen island, to a small bowl with olives and an open pack of breadsticks. “Please, help yourself.”

Louis feeds Alithis an olive, but grabs the plates Michael has put out instead. “Should I set the table?”

“I have a feeling you’re too nice to take no for an answer,” Michael says, smiling. He pulls open a drawer and reaches across to open a cupboard, revealing cutlery and glasses in turn. “I was thinking we could eat outside?”

 

They sit at a mosaic patio table in the backyard, strings of lights overheard on, though still dim in the twilight.

“How do you like it?” Michael asks, biting into a breadstick.

“It’s really good,” Louis says honestly. “And it’s nice to have something different—I usually only have spaghetti with tomato sauce.”

Michael pours him some more water. “Creature of habit?”

Louis shrugs. “I am a bit of a fussy eater. And I don’t have the skill to experiment in the kitchen.” He smiles wryly. “Can’t even make tea on a bad day, as you’ve seen.”

“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” Michael says sympathetically.

Instinctively, Louis fixes his fringe. “It’s fine. And this has really helped,” he adds. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Louis.” Michael looks him in the eyes, leaving no doubt he is being genuine, then clears his throat as he twirls pasta on his fork. “Can I ask you what brings you to the neighbourhood?”

Louis pushes his food around his plate. “We’re clearing out the house to sell it.”

“I remember an old woman lived there…” Michael trails off questioningly.

“My grandmother. She passed a few weeks ago, and left the house to me and my sister.”

Michael puts down his fork. “I’m sorry—”

“We weren’t close, to be honest.” Louis abandons his dinner altogether in favour of fidgeting with the paper napkin. “I don’t know why she left us the house instead of leaving it to my dad.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Sorry. What about you, you said your parents live here?”

Michael hesitates, his brow furrowed with concern, but finally nods. “They moved in four years ago in... May, I think. I live in Raleigh, but I do visit often. I’m used to travelling to see them since I left for college.”

Louis starts. “I live in Raleigh too.”

A grin spreads across Michael’s face. “You’re kidding?”

“No. I moved there after I finished high school, ten years ago now.” He gives an incredulous shake of his head. “God, time goes quick.”

Michael rests his hand on the table like he wants to reach for Louis. But Louis stays huddled in his chair across the table. “Did you grow up here?”

Louis rubs his arms, chilled from sitting next to the pool in the deepening dusk. “Yeah. But I haven’t been since I left.”

Michael looks at him in some surprise. “It must be strange being back.”

“It is.”

Sensing his discomfort, Michael changes the subject, drawing his attention to his mother’s gardening, his expression going soft when Louis confesses his love for flowers. Sport talk lasts them until Michael finishes his plate.

“Can I make you anything else?” he asks with a small frown, taking in Louis’ unfinished dinner. “An omelette or something?”

“No, no. It was really good, honestly,” Louis says earnestly. “I wasn’t really that hungry, I’m sorry.”

Michael starts clearing up the plates. “Don’t be. Any appetite for dessert?” He pauses to shoot Louis a small grin. “Chocolate pudding?”

Louis bites his lip, obviously tempted.

“It’s going out of date soon. You’ll be doing me a favour.”

Louis returns his smile, even as he is overcome with a full body shiver. “I do love chocolate.”

The smell of chlorine from the pool and the low chirping of crickets in the darkness that had been in the background of their conversation, hit him in full when Michael walks into the house with his daemon.  
Louis rubs his arms again, and keeps his arms crossed over his chest, holding onto his elbows. “It _is_ strange being back… feels like the end of the summer holidays.”

“It is, technically,” Alithis says from where she lies at his feet. “But you’re not a student anymore. You don’t have to go back to school.”

Louis releases a shuddering breath, nodding.

“It’s actually chocolate mousse, I hope that’s OK.” Michael comes back with two dessert cups and spoons in one hand, and in the other a grey hoodie, which he holds out to Louis.

Louis takes it mechanically, but doesn’t put it on, feeling self conscious with Michael sitting in front of him in tee shirt and sweat shorts, opting to peel open the mousse instead. “Thank you.”

Michael looks at him for a long moment, with a small, confused frown, but eventually reaches for his own dessert. “No problem. How is it?” he asks, when Louis dips his spoon for a second time, his eyes dropping to Louis’ lips when he makes an approving sound in response.

Louis pretends not to notice Michael sneaking glances at him while they eat.

“Why don’t we sit inside?” Michael suggests once they’re done, a few minutes later, watching Louis contain another shiver, the hoodie still on his lap.

Louis wipes a speck of chocolate on the table with his napkin. “I think I’m going to head back, actually, it’s getting late. But let me help with the dishes—”

“No way.” Michael sticks the spoons in his empty glass and stacks the two empty plastic cups. “You must be tired. Go home, get warm, get some rest.”

He walks Louis to the door, resting his hand on the low of Louis' back for the few seconds it takes him to pull the door open for him. “I’m glad you stayed,” he says with a friendly smile.

“Me too.” Louis dips his head to hide his smile, but looks up again to say, “Thank you.”

Michael stares at Louis, teeth sinking into his full bottom lip for a split second. “No problem.” He scratches at the close trimmed beard along his jawline with his knuckles. “Maybe we could—”

“Good night!” Louis interrupts, giving his arm a quick squeeze, all muscle and warm, smooth skin, before making his retreat.

He hurries back to the house, cutting across the grass, his soiled shirt clutched in his fist.

“Why didn’t you let him finish?” Alithis asks while Louis digs into the pocket of his joggers for the keys. “I think he wanted to ask you out.”

Louis shakes his head as he closes the door behind them. “It was just dinner, like you said.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Alithis grumbles.

Louis heaves a sigh, squeezing the back of his neck. “I need a shower, and sleep.” He runs a hand down Alithis’ neck as she presses up against his leg. “Come on, it really _has_ been a long day.”

—

Louis straightens up and stands with his hands on his waist in the stream of sunlight from the open window, a couple of bulging plastic bags at his feet—he had taken down all the curtains and collected all the old towels, dish cloths and spare bedding he could find. Curtain rods, throw pillows and blankets are piled in a corner. In a cardboard box are picture frames and assorted knick knacks.

“Aren’t you tired?” Alithis asks from the door. “You’ve been at it for hours.”

Louis makes a face, digging his thumbs into his back against the pain in his spine. “Of course I’m tired. But it has to get done.” He combs his hair back from his forehead, damp with sweat, and grimaces when he notices the dust and grime the bandage has picked up. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Where did you leave your phone?”

Louis pats his joggers, then looks around the room, which his grandmother seemed to have used as a multipurpose room, with a spare wardrobe, an old sewing mannequin, and a treadmill all cramped in the same space.

“Bedroom?” Alithis suggests.

He finds his phone between the sheets of the unmade bed, and sits on the edge of the bed to check the time. “Just past twelve,” he informs her as he lies back on the bed, an arm draped over his eyes and bare feet brushing the floor.

He feels Alithis jump onto the bed and stand by his head. “Are you going to go to the health centre?” she asks, nosing at his injured hand. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Louis lowers his arm to give her a look. “If you do _that_.” Alithis titters. “But, no, I’m fine.” He presses a hand to his chest, forehead creased. “I don’t need a nurse, I need some painkillers.”

“You need to buy food—”

“—or a can opener,” Louis quips, and it’s Alithis’ turn to level him a look.

“You didn’t even have any breakfast.”

Louis rolls onto his side, turning away from Alithis. “I’m not really hungry.”

“You can’t not eat for days, Louis.”

“Lottie’s coming down tomorrow—finally—it’d be just one day.”

Alithis lies down behind him, burrowing her head under his arm to rest on his waist. “You said you wouldn’t do that again,” she says quietly.

Louis sighs, and scratches between his daemon’s ears. “Alright. Let me get changed.”

 

“Someone is going to think you’re shoplifting, if you keep that up.”

Louis breathes out a faint laugh, but the lines on his forehead don’t smooth out, and his mouth returns immediately to a tight, straight line.

“I would rather not see anyone,” he admits, clearing the frozen food aisle, with a microwaveable dinner added to the basket.

“What about Oli?” Alithis asks. “Don’t you want to see him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He reaches for some crackers. “If it’s just the two of us…”

Alithis catches sight of her before Louis does—Louis sees her go still, poised for flight—but the woman calls out before he can take a single step to avoid her.

“Louis Tomlinson, is that you?”

Louis turns around, forcing a smile onto his face as she approaches him: short, quick steps contrasting with her Holstein cow daemon’s ponderous walk behind her.

“How are you, Mrs Corden?”

“Very well, thank you. But let me look at you. It’s been so long!” She looks him over, two fingers pressed to her pursed lips. Her eyes wander to Louis’ daemon once, for a second. “You haven’t changed,” she pronounces, then smiles. “Except for a bit of stubble.”

“Yeah.” Louis can’t manage more than a tight lipped smile. “The short hair suits you,” he tells her politely.

Julia pats her flaxen bob. “Thank you. It’s less trouble—with the little ones, you know.”

“How many now?”

“Three.” She lets out a small laugh. “The last one was a bit of a surprise, but he’s the apple of his father’s eye now.”

Louis struggles to return her smile.

“You should come by the store, I’m sure James would love to see you. And you can meet the children.”

“He’s still at the store then?” Louis asks, in spite of himself.

“It’s _Corden’s_ now, actually,” Julia replies, raising her chin proudly. “Your father sold his half to James when he left town, didn’t you know?”

Louis shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “We haven’t really kept in touch.”

Julia brushes the front of her dress, bottom lip between her teeth. “Pity,” she says at last.

Louis makes a noncommittal sound in response. Their goodbye is stilted, and Louis makes a beeline for the check out line. Distracted, he doesn’t notice until he’s right in front of him at the till.

Oli’s eyes go round when he sees him. “Hey, man!” he exclaims, breaking into a grin. He stands up and spreads his arms out in invitation. “Dude, it’s been too long.” Louis is pulled into a hug, and he finds himself holding on tight, breathing in the familiar scent of weed, fried chicken, and cheap deodorant, his throat tight.

“What are you doing here?” They both ask at the same time when they break apart, sending them into a fit of laughter.

Still grinning, Oli sets a CLOSED TILL sign behind Louis’ items on the conveyor belt.

“I thought you were doing construction work, painting?” Louis asks.

“I was. But I ended up coming back to this a couple of months ago—” Oli explains while he opens the gate enclosing the till to let his daemon, a scraggy Anglo Nubian goat, out. Theola doesn’t waste a moment trotting over to greet Alithis. “It’s a good job. And I might make manager soon.”

Louis rests a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light shake and squeeze. “That’s great, man.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Oli sits down again, and starts scanning his groceries. “What are you doing back in town?”

“It’s kind of a long story. But I’m only here for a few days.”

“We should grab a beer,” Oli says, handing him the receipt. “I’ll round up Calvin and Nizam, couple of other guys.”

Louis picks up his bag, shoulders tense. “Sure. Cool.”

“I’ll call you—pick up the phone for a change!” Oli calls in farewell, and Louis waves a hand as he hurries out of the supermarket.

He crosses the parking lot at a fast pace, shoulders hunched against the drizzle. The silence inside the car when he closes the door seems pronounced after the noise in the supermarket, nothing but the muted sound of traffic and rain. Louis does up his seatbelt and puts the key in the ignition, but doesn’t start the engine.

Alithis watches him from the passenger seat as he massages the back of his neck with his uninjured hand, forehead wrinkled in discomfort. “That wasn’t so bad,” she says after a moment.

Louis rolls his head to meet her eyes. “I’m not leaving the house again,” he replies, deadpan. But his lips twitch, and they share a quiet giggle. “It could have been worse,” he allows with a sigh.

In the short drive back to the house, the fine rain turns into a downpour, and the open stretch from the car to the door is enough to get him wet through. Setting the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter, he pulls out the frozen dinner, the cardboard box gone soft where the rain had reached it.

“I can change while it cooks—it takes a few minutes,” he tells Alithis.

But when he turns the knob on the microwave, it doesn’t start. Frowning, he checks to see that it’s plugged into the wall. It is.

“Of _course_ it doesn’t work.” Louis swears under his breath, shivering.

Alithis puts her ear to the refrigerator. “I think the power might be out.”

Louis tries the light, but the kitchen remains in gloom, the rain making it seem later than one in the afternoon. “Great.”

“You can still heat up something on the stove.” Alithis nudges a cupboard open with her nose. “Are there any matches around?”

After a fruitless search, Louis releases his breath in a loud exhalation. “I could get my lighter from the car, I suppose,” he says with some reluctance.

The sudden ring of the door bell startles them both.

Louis fusses with his wet fringe as he walks to the front door, Alithis at his heels.

“Hi.” Michael raises a hand in greeting, the other holding a large umbrella. “Sorry to bother you, but as I was coming in I noticed one of your windows upstairs is wide open—”

Louis gasps. “Shit.”

He dashes upstairs, and isn’t surprised to find a puddle on the floor in front of the window, and everything within five feet wet. He stretches out a couple of towels on the floor, hoping it will soak up most of the water, and heads back downstairs. He isn’t expecting to see Michael standing in the living room working on the end of his daemon’s braided mane, which seemed to have come undone.

Louis clears his throat to announce his presence at the bottom of the stairs.

Michael twists a hair tie around the end of the braid, then turns to Louis. “Is it bad?” he asks with a sympathetic grimace.

Louis shakes his head. “Got it in time—Thank you for that. I’m an idiot: I completely forgot I left the window open.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

“Yeah.” Louis crosses one arm over his chest, holding onto his elbow, uncomfortable in his wet clothes.

Alithis nudges the back of his knee, making his leg buckle a little. “Invite him to lunch!” she whispers.

“I realise I let myself in.” Michael speaks up, hooking a thumb in the front pocket of his dark wash jeans in a move that makes Louis’ tongue dart out to wet his lips without conscious thought. “I hope that’s OK? I wasn’t sure if you might need any help.” He keeps his eyes on Louis, the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile.

Louis slides his hand from his elbow to his wrist in a nervous gesture. “Would you like something to drink?” he asks at last.

Michael’s smile widens. “That’d be great, thanks.”

Alithis takes the lead when Louis hesitates, and skips toward the kitchen, leaving them to follow.

In the kitchen, Louis motions for Michael to sit down, while he fidgets with the plastic bag of groceries on the countertop. “I don’t actually have much to offer, sorry,” he says, biting his lip. “Chocolate milk, and coke.”

Michael sits at the table, posture relaxed, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Louis, a soft smile on his face. “Coke sounds good.”

Louis rummages to pull out a can, then swears under his breath, his back still to Michael. “I don’t have any ice, and I just bought it, so it’s warm, I’m sorry. The ice cream is going to melt too.” He feels his breath quicken, in spite of himself. “I’d ask you to lunch, but I only have canned spaghetti, and there aren’t any matches—”

“Hey.” Michael makes a soft, soothing sound, and Louis feels him come up behind him. “Louis, it’s alright.”

Louis turns around, biting at his lips to stop them trembling.

“Why don’t you change into something dry, and I’ll figure this out, OK?” He rests a careful hand on Louis’ upper arm, rubbing calming circles with his thumb.

“I have a lighter in the car,” Louis says, wanting to show he had a plan. “I was going to get it, when you rang.”

Michael nods. “I’ll get it—” He flashes a quick grin. “I have an umbrella.”

Louis lets out a weak breath of laughter, but shakes his head, arms crossed tight over his middle.

Michael gives his arm a light squeeze before he can speak. “Go change,” he insists gently. “You’re shivering.”

Feeling a little overwhelmed with Michael up close, and his unwavering attention, Louis concedes.

Upstairs, he closes the bedroom door behind him and paces a few short circuits around the room, full of nervous energy, until he trips over Alithis.

“Get out of those wet clothes already,” she says. “Come on.”

Louis takes a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah. I feel really…” He rubs his eyes roughly. “I hate being here.”

Alithis brushes her head against his thigh. “Michael’s nice, at least, yeah?”

Louis strokes her head, and finally moves to undress. “He is. And I know what you’re getting at. But nothing is going to happen between us.”

Alithis pokes her nose in the suitcase on the floor. “Why not? He likes you. You like him, don’t you? Wear the red one.”

Louis pulls on the red sweater, and black joggers, but only motions for his daemon to follow him out, shaking his head. “Come on.”

He stops short when he walks into the kitchen to find the table set, and a small pot on the stove. He stares at Michael, who fails to hold back a grin.

“Just in time.” Michael pulls up a chair for Louis at the end of the table, motioning for him to sit. “I went to get your lighter, don’t be mad.”

A surprised laugh bursts from Louis. “I’m not. But… you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Michael says as he spoons out the canned spaghetti from the pot onto the bowls.

Louis cradles the bowl with both hands for the warmth, shaking his head. “You keep saying that, but—”

“OK.” Michael laughs, raising his hands in defeat after placing the empty pot back on the stove. “I don’t mind the trouble then, if you prefer… small as it is.”

Louis rolls his eyes, lips pressed together trying to contain a smile. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” Michael says with a shrug, still smiling, as he sits down at the table.

Louis pokes the spaghetti with his fork. “I’m sorry. This is so shit compared to what you served me.”

“You know, I’ve never actually tried canned spaghetti before.”

“Really? I used to have it all the time when I was a kid.” Louis traces a familiar groove on the wood table with his finger. “My mom wasn’t much of a cook.”

Michael struggles to wind the pasta around his fork for a moment, before he manages to get it in his mouth. His face remains thoughtful as he chews. “It’s not bad,” he says finally. “One of your favourites?”

Louis frowns at the food in his plate. “No, I kind of hate it, actually,” he replies, surprising himself. He raises a forkful to his mouth, avoiding Michael’s eyes. His brow furrows in confusion at the taste as he chews, distracting him from the tightness in his chest. “It tastes different.”

“I found some seasoning, and I thought it might make it a bit better,” Michael explains, his face uncertain. “I’m not sure if I should apologise?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, it does taste better.” He finds himself returning Michael’s tentative smile, but winces when Michael pushes the plate of crackers between them toward him. “You must _really_ regret staying for lunch,” he groans, some humour in his voice, though he means it.

Michael chuckles. “I _really_ don’t. I tried something new… And I’m getting to talk to you.”

Louis blinks at him for a moment, then quickly reaches for his glass to hide a bashful smile.

“How’s your hand?” Michael asks.

“It’s good, yeah, thank you.” Louis taps his fork against the edge of the bowl. “I survived for years on canned spaghetti, I’ll live.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works, Louis,” Michael says, laughter in his voice.

“In my world,” Louis protests jokingly. “And the can says it’s fortified with iron and vitamins, so. There you go. Eat up.”

Chortling, Michael bites into a cracker instead.

“Really, you don’t want to try them cold,” Louis insists, wrinkling his nose. “This isn’t like cold pizza.”

“Ugh. I don’t even like cold pizza.”

Louis makes a disgusted noise, making Michael snort with laughter around a mouthful of spaghetti, but he plays with his own food, distracted, his eyes straying to the window—it’s still raining heavily.

“Did you leave the car sunroof open?” Michael asks, giving his foot a light nudge under the table with his toe.

Louis turns to him in confusion. “I don’t have a sun roof.”

Michael bites back a smile, though his expression is fond as opposed to mocking. “I was joking.”

Louis makes a face, embarrassed, but his gaze is still distant. “Sorry. I’d forgotten what the rain is like here in the summer.”

“Being here must bring back a lot of memories.” Michael’s voice is quiet.

“It’s like nothing has changed… like I never went away.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Louis doesn’t know what to do with the gentle, solicitous look on his face, and he ends up pushing his chair from the table and standing up in an abrupt move. “I'd offer you ice cream for dessert, but it must be half melted…”

“I know a great place for ice cream in town we could go to, once the rain lets up,” Michael says pleasantly.

“Dermot’s? Down the street from the health centre?” Louis asks, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, has it been around that long?”

“Mhm.” Louis shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “My mom used to take me there after every doctor’s appointment.”

“Ice cream is better than a lollipop, isn’t it?”

Louis’ laugh is forced. “I wasn’t so young anymore, but I never said no.”

“Who would?” Michael’s mouth is curved into a smile, but his forehead is lined. “Cup or cone?”

“Cup. Easier to eat.”

“Less of a mess, for sure. Raspberry is my favourite. Yours?” he perseveres, keeping his tone casual.

“I used to love mint chocolate chip.” Louis shifts to cross his arms over his chest, knuckles digging into his sides. “But I kind of lost my taste for it.”

Alithis comes to stand at his side, pressed tight against his leg for comfort.

“Since you like chocolate, maybe you’d like the chocolate orange, or the Stracciatella.” Michael leans forward in the chair, an elbow resting on his knee. “This time of year it’s always some high school student working there—odds are they have either my mom or my dad teaching them… I’m sure we can sample a few flavours.”

“Your mom and dad are teachers?”

Michael takes the change of subject in stride. “Maths and physics.” He lets out a chuckle. “I guess the branch doesn’t fall far from the tree, after all.”

Louis clears his throat. “They work with Simon, then—Mr Cowell?”

“Well, more _for_ him these days, I guess, since he’s the headmaster now.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Did he teach you? How was he? I’ve heard he had some tough love vibe going on.”

Louis twists a hand in the material of his sweater, considering his answer for a moment. “I thought the world of him.”

Without warning, the kitchen light turns on, and the silence is broken by the hum of the microwave and the buzz of the fridge restarting.

An inarticulate sound of surprise escapes Michael, followed by a small laugh at his reaction, and Louis finds himself smiling back as they squint at each other in the sudden brightness.

He rushes to stop the microwave with a grimace. “That’s more than a little defrosted.”

“It should still be fine if you eat it now.”

“But I just had lunch,” Louis says, bemused, moving to gather the plates from the table.

Michael follows him to the sink with the glasses. “You didn’t really eat much. And that can barely even qualifies as a meal.” He rubs the back of his neck when Louis turns to stare at him. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I work out a lot, and like to cook, so I’m kind of trained at this point to think of calories and nutritional value and all that stuff on the regular.”

“It’s fine. You’re right, anyway,” Louis replies, pulling the bottom of his sweater down. “You should go have some proper lunch yourself.”

Michael sticks his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders a little. “Yeah.”

Louis sees him to the door, the back of his neck hot with Michael walking a few steps behind him—his suspicions confirmed when they reach the door and he catches Michael’s quick movement to return his gaze to eye level. It’s instinctive to stand pronouncing the usual, natural cock of his hip just a little bit more in response. And Michael doesn’t take his eyes off him as he picks up his umbrella from the stand.

“Thanks again for helping me with lunch,” Louis says sincerely.

Michael shakes his head. “Worth the trouble,” he replies with a tentative, teasing grin.

Louis bites his lip through a smile, ducking his head.

“If you want some company this evening…” Michael swallows audibly when Louis raises his blue eyes to look at him. “I’m having some friends over to watch the game later,” he continues, clearing his throat. “I make really great nachos. And provide good beer.”

“Who are you supporting?” Louis asks, fidgeting with the end of his sleeves. 

“Titans, of course.”

Louis scrunches up his nose, smiling when Michael laughs.

“A little friendly competition is even better, though. See you at eight?”

Smile faltering, Louis draws back against the door frame, clasping his hands against his chest. “I… don’t know, I have a lot to do.”

Michael reaches out to touch his wrist lightly. “Think about it?”

 

Once Michael has left, Alithis presses him into eating the chicken dinner. He takes it up to the bedroom and eats on the bed, propped up against the headboard with Alithis curled up next to him—her head on his stomach so that he has to eat with one arm around her.

“Are you going to go over later?” she asks, when Louis sets the container down on the bedside table.

Louis slides down the headboard to rest against the pillows with a sigh. “I don’t know, Ali. I’m tired.”

Alithis makes a noncommittal sound, but squirms in place until Louis lies down with his arms wrapped around her. “He likes you,” she says after a moment. “ _Likes_ likes you.”

Louis hums, closing his eyes. “Maybe after a few beers I’ll let him fuck me then,” he says dispassionately.

Alithis bristles at his words. “It’s not that.” Her voice is pleading rather than cross when she speaks: “He was trying to get to know you—”

“Best save him the disappointment, then.”

“He’s interested in you—”

“He’s nice, and he’s bored—that’s all it is. And that’s fine.” Louis hugs his daemon a little tighter. “Please, Alithis, drop it.”

 

His phone vibrating next to him in a call, the screen flashing Oli’s name, wakes him. Louis hovers his thumb over the accept call button for a long moment, hesitant, but finally picks up.

 

The pub is packed, loud with the sounds of eating and drinking, and the preliminaries to the football game playing on a couple of screens. It’s warm, the air thick with bodies and the smell of fried food, and Louis almost regrets wearing the flannel shirt over his tee shirt except it gives him something to do with his hands, fidgeting with the buttons and pulling the sleeves over to his knuckles.

Oli throws an arm over his shoulders when he joins them at the table, and Calvin, cuckoo daemon perched on his shoulder, slides him a beer with a grin. Nizam, his tree frog daemon like a jewelled brooch on his shirt, joins the table with several orders of fries and chicken wings, and three friends he introduces by shouting their names at Louis over the din: Dan, Jordan, and Russell. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to Russell, who jams himself in next to Louis with his opossum daemon clinging to his back. “Alright?” he says to Louis in greeting, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.

Most of the conversation is about football, and Louis finds himself relaxing a little after he gulps down his first beer. He learns he can still make Oli snort his drink out of his nose with laughter, and that Calvin still pulls the same moves to hit on women that he did when he was eighteen—and sulks just as much when he’s turned down. He discovers that he can still fit in and be one of them if he pushes himself—it’s familiar, even if it’s not natural: mirroring their posture and movements with tight control over his own, making his voice a little rougher, a little louder—he has a catalogue of gestures and phrases and topics to fall back on, going big and loud to cover up whenever he finds himself slipping. It works out until late into the second half of the game, when Dan spits out a slur after one of the players botches a throw.

Oli glances at Louis, then buries his nose in his beer. None of the others react, even as Dan repeats it, ranting on about the fumble.

“Do you mind?” Louis cuts in, jaw tight. “That’s offensive.”

The entire table is silent, Calvin staring open mouthed between them. Rolling his eyes, Dan turns back to the screen. “Sure, whatever.” Tucked under his arm, his Embden goose daemon clacks her beak. He mutters something else under his breath that Louis doesn’t catch but can imagine, as it makes Russell choke on his beer as he tries to hold back a laugh.

Mouth in a tight line and hand curled into a fist on his lap, Louis glares at Dan for a long moment, then turns his attention back to the game.

In high spirits after the win from his team, Dan calls for another round for the table. Fingering the car key in his pocket, Louis hesitates, but when the beers come around and the others all drink, he does too.  
However, when he tries to join in on the boisterous recount of the game, he finds himself losing track of the conversation, and struggling to maintain the animation required. Bored and restless, he looks about the room. A young waiter at the bar catches his eye and waves, smiling, and Louis acknowledges him with a quick wag of his fingers and a small smile, but quickly looks away.

He makes an effort to pay attention to the talk at the table, but the feeling of being observed makes him look around again— until he finds the person staring at him: a familiar face that keeps him frozen in place even as the man grins and struts up to the table, followed by his Turkish Angora cat daemon, tail raised high.

“Well if it isn’t Louis Tomlinson.” He stands between Russell and Dan, one hand on each of their shoulders, inserting himself into the group.

“Ben.”

“It’s Deputy Chief Winston now.” Ben looks down at Louis with a smirk. “So what are you doing here, Tomlinson?”

Louis twists a corner of his chequered shirt around his fingers under the table. “I’m only here for a couple of days,” he replies shortly.

Ben raises his eyebrows, smug smile still playing about his lips. “That wasn’t the question.” He snorts with laughter.  “But then, it’s hard to get a _straight_ answer out of you, isn’t it?”

Nizam and Jordan snigger, while Russell and Dan laugh out loud.

Louis swallows hard, his throat a bit tight, but he raises his chin and looks right at Ben. “It’s none of your business why I’m here.”

Ben’s smile turns sharp. “I can make it my business—official business, like—you know?”

Louis doesn’t lower his eyes, though the fabric of his shirt is twisted so tight around his fingers he’s cutting off the circulation.

Ben nods. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll pay you a visit, see what you’re up to, skulking around here again.”

Clapping Nizam’s friends on the back, he bids them a good night and, grin back in place, disappears back into the crowd.

Louis reaches for his beer, downing the last lukewarm mouthful.

Oli gives his arm a comforting squeeze. “Next one’s on me, yeah?” he says, leaning in close.  

His next drink is vodka, and he backs Calvin’s suggestion of a round of shots enthusiastically.

Alithis pulls at his sleeve, concern in her eyes, when he lists to the side on the stool.

“I’m fine,” he tells her, reaching down to pat her head. “It’s just a couple of drinks.”

“But—”

Louis doesn’t hear the end, as Calvin grabs his wrist to lift the glass to his mouth, laughing. “Drink!”

Everything becomes a bit of a blur, sound muted and heightened at turns, until he has to stumble to the toilets, and scrabble at the wall of the cubicle to keep himself upright as he throws up. When he emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later, his hair is damp with cold sweat, but he feels steadier on his feet. As he tries to weave through the pub to the exit, though, the young waiter from the bar stops him, his daemon—a male common pheasant—about his feet.

“How are you getting home, darling?” he asks, a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis blinks at him, unsure. “I… drove here, but—”

“That’s not happening, yeah. Sorry—” he says as he takes Louis’ car key straight from his pocket. “One of your friends was still hanging about, maybe you two can get a taxi?”

With his bright ginger hair, Oli isn’t difficult to locate. He hooks an arm around Louis’ neck as he guides him out. “Let’s walk home—my dad can drive you back to yours. He’s always liked you, you know? He thought you were a good influence on me.”

“What?”

Oli just nods, humming.

Despite having the street to themselves, they walk close together, shoulders bumping together every other step. They walk for a few minutes in silence broken only by the odd car zooming past, until Oli speaks up all of a sudden.

“You taking care of yourself?” he asks. “How’s everything, really?”

Louis shrugs. “I’m fine. Everything’s great.”

Oli turns his head to look at Louis. “You always used to say that after your dad had roughed you up.” He scratches at the back of his neck, mouth pulled to the side in a grimace. “And I let you get away with it.”

Knocking their shoulders together, Louis offers him a faint smile. “Not always.”

“Too often,” Oli says, shaking his head. “But I did get you talking sometimes—even if I didn’t understand that much.”

Louis stops walking to look at Oli in the eye. “You were there. And that meant a lot, believe me.”

Oli gives his shoulder a light punch, then opens his arms. “You want a hug, don’t you?”

Louis lets out a light laugh. “Always.”

“Get in here.”

Oli pats his back a few times as they continue walking. “You got anyone there, since you broke it off with that jackass?” he asks after a minute.

Louis looks at him in some surprise, stumbling on the sidewalk.

“What?” Oli asks.

“I haven’t heard anyone insult him in… a long time.” Louis worries at the button above his elbow for the roll tab sleeve, one arm crossed over his middle. “Everyone I know loved him. No one understands why I broke up with him.”

“Yeah?” Oli says distractedly, checking no cars are coming in order to cross the street. “But he wasn’t very good to you, was he?”

Louis stares after him for a moment before he hurries to catch up. “What are you talking about?” he asks when he joins him on the other side of the street. “He didn’t beat me.”

Oli raises his eyebrows, shaking his head. “Dude, that’s not supposed to be the standard.”

“It’s not easy for me." Louis digs his hands in his pockets as they continue walking. 

“What are you talking about—looking like that?” Oli gestures to Louis with a vague wave of his arm. “There’s no way you have any trouble pulling.”

Louis lets out a quiet chuckle, but keeps his head down. “It’s not about that,” he mumbles.

“Now me, with a nose like this, and these ears—that ain’t easy.” His tone leaves no doubt he is joking, and Louis looks up with a faint grin even as he gives him a light cuff on the ear.

“But who can resist the ginger?”  he teases.

Oli guffaws. “I wish!”

Traipsing across a stretch of barren, muddy land, avoiding the old, abandoned furniture and broken glass bottles littering the area, it doesn’t take them long to reach Oli’s home. The sound of traffic receding with every step, until all Louis can hear as he waits outside is frogs and crickets, and a dog barking in a neighbouring house. Alithis leans against his legs with a sigh, but doesn’t say anything.

Mr. Wright is a thickset man, bald but with a ragged beard the same shade of red as Oli’s hair. He claps a hand on Louis’ shoulder in greeting when he walks out of the house and to the car parked out in front.

Louis hovers behind him as he opens the back door of the car and helps his Duroc pig daemon up onto the back seat.

“You’re old enough to sit in front now, kid,” he tells Louis with a chuckle, banging the door shut. “Go on.”

Sitting with Alithis curled up at his feet, Louis helps Mr. Wright fasten his seat belt when he struggles because of his bulk.

“How are you, Mr. Wright?” he asks as he does up his own seat belt.

“Good, good. Me and the wife went on holiday to Florida in July—that was real nice. But how are your folks doing?”

“Mom’s fine, thank you.”

“How about your dad? We lost touch after he moved away.” Mr. Wright drums his fingers on the wheel, driving at an unhurried pace despite the empty roads. “He wasn’t bad company, your dad, even if we didn’t always see eye to eye—football for one!” He lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head with a fond smile on his face. But his expression turns serious as he continues. “And you for another…”

Louis looks at him, frowning in confusion.

“I used to tell your dad he was too hard on you.” Mr. Wright keeps his eyes on the road. “Daemon taking a little longer to settle, where’s the harm in that? But he was like that since you was little, weren’t he? I said to him, ‘You got a soft boy, nothing wrong with that. And you hard on something soft, you ain’t gonna make it hard, you just gonna break it.'”

His emotions even closer to the surface than usual because of the alcohol, Louis looks down at his hands on his lap, a lump in his throat.

“But you’re doing alright, aren’t you?” Mr. Wright continues, glancing at him. “Oli told me you’s some kind of doctor?”

“Not quite.” Louis has to clear the rasp from his voice. “I’m a music therapist. I work with children.”

Oli’s dad gives a nod. “There you go. Your dad should be right proud.”

Louis can’t manage more than a grunt.

“So what is he up to these days then? You didn’t say.”

Louis looks out the window as they turn into his street. “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken in years.”

“Well, he’s the one missing out, ain’t he? What’s a man without his children?” Mr. Wright turns to him, one elbow on the wheel, once stopped in front of the house. “Did Oli tell you he’s going to get a promotion soon? Manager!”

“Yeah, he did. It’s great,” Louis says earnestly. He reaches for the door handle. “Thank you so much for driving me, Mr. Wright.”

“Take care of yourself, kid.”

They exchange a last wave before he drives away, and Louis heads inside the house. After closing the front door behind him, he slumps against it, swearing under his breath.

Alithis rubs her head against his thigh wordlessly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Louis presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I’m so fucking tired, Ali."

"Let’s get to bed.”

—

The bedroom is bathed in light when he wakes up. He tugs the pillow from under his head in a sluggish movement to cover his face, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“How are you?” Alithis asks, yawning.

Louis curls up on his side, holding the pillow to his face. “Hungover. In pain.”

Alithis makes a sympathetic sound, but tries to nose under the pillow to get him out from under it. “Remember Lottie said she’d be here before noon.”

“What time is it?” Louis groans, groping for his phone and squinting as he holds it up to his face to check the time. Frowning, he lifts himself up on one elbow, staring at the message from Lottie that had come in earlier that morning. He hits the call button.

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” he croaks.

“Well good morning to you too.” Lottie clucks her tongue. “Calm down, I _am_ coming, only not today as planned.”

Mouth in a tight line, Louis doesn’t answer.

“It’s not my fault!” she says defensively. “Two of the girls called in sick at work, so I need to cover for them. I thought it’s what you would want me to do.”

After a moment, Louis lies back with a long sigh. “I almost believed you. But next time you might want to avoid posting on Instagram, Lotts—I know you’re in Keys.”

Lottie goes silent, then starts giggling. “Fine, you got me! But it’s so nice here, you have no idea.”

“It’s fine, Lottie. I’ll just do it myself—” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“No! There might be things I want to keep. I lived there too, and grandma left me half the house—I want to see.”

“Fine. Then I’ll go, and you do it. I don’t want anything from this house.”

“What, no, that’s not fair, having to do it all on my own!” Lottie huffs. “Come on, Louis, it’s just two more days, it can’t be that bad.”

“I hate it here,” Louis says tonelessly.  

“I’ll be there Friday, promise.”

Louis rubs two fingers between his eyebrows, then scrubs the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. “Fine.”

Lottie cheers. “You’re the best brother. Love you! See you soon!”

“Love you too,” he replies, but she’s already hung up. He lets his arm drop to his side.

“When did you check Instagram?” Alithis asks after a minute.

“I haven’t. But I know her, and I know when she’s lying.”

“It’s not right, she always does things like this—”

“I need a smoke.” Louis winces as he heaves himself upright, shoulders hunched. “And pain killers.”

After a piss and a glass of tap water from the bathroom to take the pills, he goes straight downstairs to the front door.

“What about breakfast?” Alithis asks, trailing after him, nipping at his pyjama bottoms.

“Maybe later—” Louis stops in his tracks, staring at the empty space on the street in front of the house where the car should be. “Shit.”

The car is still at the pub.

 

With a few hours still to go before open, the pub is transformed, and Louis looks around with interest at the preparations going on around him as he waits at the bar. Having called beforehand, he was expected, and the manager—a young woman who had introduced herself as Lauren—had let him in, and even offered him some water while she went to fetch his car key from the back.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” she says in a cheerful singsong when she returns, handing him his key alongside a scrap of paper, and holding out an open bag of gummy worms in offering at the same time.

“What is this?” Louis asks, taking the paper, which has a phone number and a name—Brendan—scrawled on it.

“Cute waiter from last night?”

“I remember—”

“He asked me to give it to you when you came to pick up your car.” Lauren laughs when Louis stares in confusion, and shakes the bag at him again after feeding a gummy worm to the toucan daemon bobbing on her shoulder. “You seem way too surprised for someone who looks like you. Or did he confuse your gaydar somehow? You’re not straight, are you?” she adds, her face twisted in amazement.

Louis snorts. “No. I just hadn’t even thought of it, to be honest.”

“Well, if you do, you should know he’s a decent guy,” she says, popping a gummy into her mouth. “I can vouch for him.”

“Thanks.” Louis looks down at the paper in his hand, tucking his fringe back before looking back up at her. “Tell him thank you, please.”

“Will do.”

 

“You could text him…” Alithis proposes tentatively once in the car. “He was quite cute, and seemed nice.”

“It’s best for him that I don’t.” Ignoring his daemon’s quiet whine at his response, Louis reaches across the console into the glove compartment and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, still sealed. But when he digs into the compartment again for the lighter, he comes up empty handed.

“Michael brought the lighter into the house to cook, remember?” Alithis says carefully.

“Michael brought the lighter into the house—” Louis echoes her tonelessly. “And it’s still in the kitchen.”

“I’m afraid so.”

With a deep, disgruntled sigh, Louis tosses the cigarettes back into the glove compartment and throws himself back in the driver’s seat. “Why don’t cars come with lighters anymore?”

A soft giggle escapes Alithis, and his glare only makes her giggle harder, though she tries to contain her mirth.

“It’s not funny,” Louis grumbles. But after a moment his lips twitch, and can’t hold back a smile of his own as he starts the car. “How about McDonald’s for lunch?”

 

Less than ten minutes on the road, a police car signals him to pull over. Louis exchanges a glance with Alithis as he slows the car to a stop on the side of the road.

“Well if it isn’t Louis Tomlinson.” Ben bends down, resting his crossed arms on the window sill. “Looking a bit worse for wear, Tomlinson.”

“What do you want?” Louis says through gritted teeth.

Ben smirks, so close Louis can smell the mix of coffee and mint gum in his breath. “Now, now… that’s no way to talk to a police officer, is it?”  

Louis angles his head away from him with his eyes fixed on a random point on the dashboard of the car and his jaw tight.

“Have you been drinking?” Ben demands out of nowhere.

“What? No!” Louis replies, disconcerted by the abrupt change in tone. “Not in the last twelve hours!” he insists in response to Ben raising his eyebrows.

Ben stands straight again so that he can look down at Louis. “License and registration.” His contemplative expression is almost theatrical as he inspects the documents. “I’m not sure about this,” he says after a minute, his lips curling. “Gonna have to check it at the station, to be safe.”

“What? You can’t—”

Bracing a hand against the top of the car, Ben leans down, teeth bared. “I could cuff you right now, drag you to the station, and get nothing but a slap on the wrist for my trouble, you get me?” he says in a quiet, dangerous voice. “I’m being nice, letting you drive there.”

It’s a long moment before Louis drops his eyes.

Ben grins. “There we go… You’re welcome.”

Ben drives right behind him, leaving so little space between their cars that when Louis comes to a stop in front of the police station, he bumps into him. Though it doesn’t damage either car, the impact is jarring and causes Louis to bite his tongue. The taste of blood in his mouth lingering even half an hour later, contributing to his mounting nausea. Upon entering the precinct he had been directed to wait past the reception and main office space, alone in a corridor with closed doors to private offices and interview rooms on each side, and left sitting on a hard plastic chair with Alithis trembling beside him for over an hour.

When Louis thinks he might actually have to vomit in the potted plant in the corner, a police woman with a fox daemon comes to get him. Down the corridor and around a corner; she holds the door to an office open for him—and closes it behind him once he steps inside.  
  
Chief of Police Rob Stringer lounges in a comfortable leather chair, hands resting on his stomach. He studies Louis for a minute, expressionless, before his face arranges itself into a smile, revealing small, yellowish teeth. “Why don’t you take a seat?” he says, gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk.

Swallowing hard, Louis finally steps away from the door and takes a seat. He perches on the edge of the chair, twisting his fingers in his lap, both easing and worsening the pain in his knuckles, sore after his tight grip on the wheel during the drive there.

“Does it still hurt?” Stringer asks after a moment, out of nowhere. “You told me then it didn’t stop hurting, since the first time, only got worse. Does it still hurt?”

His tone is detached, but his eyes remain fixed on Louis with curious intensity.

Louis stares at him, wide eyed. “Yes,” he whispers finally.

Stringer doesn’t react except for the slightest twitch in the corners of his mouth, which grows more pronounced when he glances at Alithis, trembling with tension at Louis’ side. Then he straightens in his chair and flashes his teeth again. “You might have heard by now: Simon is the new headmaster at the school.” He waits until Louis nods to continue. “There’s to be a party, to celebrate all his years of teaching—tomorrow in fact. I’m sure he’d love you to attend, maybe say a few words? You were always one of his favourite students. And he helped you so much.”

Eyes burning, body rigid, Louis looks down at a corner of the desk. And recoils, chair scraping the floor, when Stringer’s daemon creeps out from behind the desk—a hulking Komodo dragon with thick, powerful legs and sharp claws—long, forked tongue flicking in and out of its mouth. Louis immediately opens his arms for Alithis to jump into them, but the Komodo dragon moves with unexpected speed to block her.

Louis’ breathing speeds up as his daemon is backed up against the wall, her eyes darting between Louis and the giant lizard.

Stringer gets up and ambles over to Louis, circling to stand behind his chair.  

“You’re not here to cause any trouble, are you?” he says, bending down to speak into his ear, his hands heavy on Louis’ shoulders.

Louis doesn’t look away from Alithis, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering. “No.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Rob gives him a little shake, chuckling. It makes the hairs on the back of Louis’ neck stand up. “My assistant outside can give you the details for Simon’s party.”

He walks back behind his desk, making a small signal to his daemon, who moves just enough to let Alithis squeeze past her to Louis.

On his feet, Louis picks her up before heading to the door, walking on stilted legs. His hand slips on the door knob once before he can get the door open.

“Louis—” Stringer calls, and Louis turns around in spite of himself. The man leans back in his chair again, a placid smile on his face. “I’ll let Dr. Azoff know of your progress. He’ll be happy to know his treatment worked out so well.”

The walk out of the precinct is a blur. Someone smacks his driver’s license and registration into his hand, and he hears Ben calls something out to him as he leaves, but it doesn’t register.

When he had arrived the sun had been out and the sky clear, but it had clouded over and the day turned muggy, airless, so that Louis can’t seem to catch his breath.

“I’m alright. You’re alright,” Alithis reassures him, nuzzling against his neck, as they walk out to the car. Louis nods, his arms tightening around her in a quick hug, but doesn’t say anything.

He fastens his seat belt with shaking hands, and puts on music the moment he turns the ignition on. It starts to rain while he drives back to the house, from fine rain to a downpour in a matter of seconds, so that by the time he makes it back visibility is reduced to short spurts.

Coming to a stop in front of the house, Louis unfastens his seat belt and switches off the windshield wipers, but leaves the car idling so that he can have the music on. He sits back in his seat with his arms wrapped around his middle and closes his eyes, his breathing still erratic.

“It’s going to run out of gas,” Alithis says in a hushed voice after a few minutes.

Louis shakes his head minimally in response, barely enough to show he heard her.  
  
Her attention on Louis, Alithis doesn’t see or hear him either, until the knock on the window startles them both. A sharp rap, muted because of the rain and the music, but still impossible to ignore.

Though the figure is distorted through the wet window, Louis recognises him before he opens the door.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but I saw you arrive… a while ago, and I thought there might be something wrong.” Speckled with raindrops despite standing under a large umbrella, Michael peers at Louis with obvious concern. “Is something wrong?” he asks carefully.

Louis shakes his head, unable to muster any animation in his voice or his expression. “I just… wanted to finish listening to the song,” he replies, ignoring that it had been at least four.

“Why don’t you come over to mine for a bit, yeah?”

“I’m fine,” Louis says mechanically.

But he doesn’t argue when Michael only hums low in his throat in response, or when he helps Louis out of the car and to his house, hands hovering rather than touching even as he guides him down the path, making sure to keep him under cover of the umbrella. He leads him to the living room, right up to the sectional sofa, moving the cushions so that Louis can sit.

Louis sinks into the corner, right up against the arm rest, shivering, with a mumbled thank you.

Michael looks at him for a moment, a hand spread on his stomach wrinkling the material of his tee shirt. “I’ll be right back.” He’s gone before Louis has even processed what he said: he feels slow and almost disoriented, more so when Alithis chooses to hang back with Michael’s daemon rather than settle next to him.

It's no more than a minute before Michael comes back. “Please?” he says, holding out the same hoodie he had offered Louis the first night. 

After a moment, Louis takes it. It’s comfortable, and something to hold onto—it helps him feel less exposed. “Thank you,” he says quietly, managing a faint smile.

Michael sits next to him on the couch, close but with enough space that Louis could move without touching him. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks, his hands gripping his thighs above his knees like he wants to spring into action and is containing himself.

“What do you mean?” Louis frowns in confusion. 

“You seem… upset, Louis.” Michael explains gently. “Is there anything I can do for you, anything you need?”

“I’m fine. I’m—” All of a sudden he’s fighting back tears. His voice breaks, and Michael makes an aborted movement to get closer to him, but holds back when Louis shrinks further against the couch. “OK. Maybe I’ve been better,” he admits with a wet, strangled laugh, covering his eyes with his hands pulled completely into the sleeves of the hoodie. “Sorry about this.”

“Please, don’t apologise.” Michael runs a hand up and down his thigh, and clutches at his knee, angled toward Louis but not moving closer. “Do you want to talk about it? Do you want… a hug, maybe?”

Louis shifts so that their legs brush, lips twitching in a failed attempt at a smile, but shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe in a minute, sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Michael rubs at the small patch of beard under his lip, expression thoughtful, before he hazards a suggestion. “Do you want me to put on some music? Would that help?” he says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “What were you listening to in the car?”

The gesture is thoughtful and unexpected, and Louis finds himself close to tears again, his voice wobbling when he answers. “Just top 40.”

“Well, that’s easy enough.”

Michael’s reassuring smile and light tone, and the music playing from his phone, helps Louis calm down, and he ventures a small smile of his own. “Imagine I’d said something like… French symphonic poems from the late 1800’s.”

Michael lets out a surprised, delighted laugh at Louis’ teasing. “That might have been a little trickier, but not impossible!” he says. “And I can’t judge anyone for obscure music tastes—when I was stressed with exams at university all I listened to was modal jazz.”

Louis can’t help but wrinkle his nose, causing Michael to chuckle. “Yeah. I can’t stand to listen to it anymore… But there was something about it that helped me concentrate back then, I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean,” Louis says, growing solemn again. After a moment, he lets his knee press against Michael’s thigh. “What did you study at university?” he asks.

“Physics.”

“Like your dad?”

Michael straightens in obvious surprise. “That’s right.”

“I was listening, even if I was distracted,” Louis says ruefully.

A thoughtful expression on his face, Michael considers him for a second, but finally doesn’t comment. “I specialised in geophysics, though. My dad thinks I spend too much time outside for a proper physicist,” he adds with a short laugh.  

Louis smiles, fingertips peeking out of his sleeves. “What is it you do?”

“I work in environmental protection; soil and water conservation.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It _is_ fun… and depressing at the same time. Frustrating, as you can imagine.” He shakes his head, then waves a dismissive hand. “What about you? You never said.”

“I studied Music and Psychology. I’m a music therapist for young children.”

“Oh, wow. Like, children with special needs?”

“Some. But I focus on children with serious illness, or undergoing physical therapy. And children with a history of abuse or trauma.”

Michael goes a little round eyed. “That must be… tough.”

“It can be hard sometimes.”

“What made you get into that line of work?”

Head down, Louis gives a small shrug. But Michael placing a tentative, comforting hand on his knee prompts him to explain. “What do you do when you’re sad?”

“Sorry?”

Louis takes a deep breath, and his exhalation comes out a little too loud and shuddering. “When you’re sad, or mad, or frustrated… or you don’t even know what you’re feeling except that it… hurts.” He holds a hand to his chest. “What do you do?”

Michael starts rubbing soothing circles on his knee with his thumb. “I work out. Or I go for a hike.”

“So working out is your outlet. Or nature?” Louis continues once Michael nods in agreement: “For other people it’s art, or cooking, or… building cupboards.”

Though Michael acknowledges his attempt at introducing a note of lightheartedness with a small laugh, his attitude remains one of gentle attentiveness.

Louis glances at Michael’s phone, in a split second of quiet as a song ends. “And for some it’s music.”  

“For you?” Michael asks, though it’s not really a question.

“Mhm. I was… a real handful as a child. Nothing my parents did could make me… settle.” His eyes stray to Alithis, who looks at him with a troubled expression. “Sports were good—I love playing soccer. But being tired just made me crankier.” He tries to grin, but doesn’t manage more than a grimace.

“Understandable,” Michael says, giving his knee an encouraging squeeze. 

“When I was seven I started piano lessons. And it was—” Louis breaks off with a sigh. “Music really helped me deal with… everything. Then, and later. So when I grew up, I thought if it had worked for me, maybe it could work for other kids, too, you know? Music is everything to me. I couldn’t think of anything better to do than help music help others.” He holds his hands up to his chest, rubbing his own thumb over his knuckles in a self soothing gesture, and summons up a tremulous smile. “It was that or becoming a pop star.”

Michael breathes out a quiet laugh, but his expression is hard to read as he looks at Louis, seeming at a loss for words.

His smile fading, Louis bites his lip. “Sorry, that was so much more than you asked for…”

“No, no—” Michael says quickly. “Shit, that’s not it at all.” He rubs his palms over both his knees, shaking his head, before looking up at Louis again. “You’re just so lovely, Louis.”

Louis ducks his head, overwhelmed at the earnestness in his voice. “I’m not.”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m just… not sure you know how lovely you are. And I think you should know.”

Blushing, head still bowed, Louis murmurs his thanks. “Even after the canned spaghetti?” he asks after a moment, looking at him from under his eyelashes.

“It wasn’t so bad!” Michael says with a laugh. “And the company more than made up for it anyway.”

“Poor taste all around, I see,” Louis responds, fidgeting with his fringe, shy at Michael’s gaze.

Michael offers him a quick grin, but there is no mistaking his sincerity when he says, “Not at all.”

Louis hides his smile in the overlarge neck of the hoodie, but lowers his hand to his lap so that it brushes against Michael’s.

“Speaking of taste, can I offer you anything to drink, or a snack, or something? Maybe some juice?”

“Yeah, actually, thanks.”

When Michael leaves the room with his daemon, Alithis dashes over to Louis, jumping on the couch to cuddle up to him. “Feeling better?”

Embracing her, Louis nods into her neck. “Yeah.”

“Why did you tell him that, though?”

“Hm? Tell him what?”

Alithis leans back so she can look at Louis. “That you were difficult as a kid. You weren’t.”

He gives the strings of the hoodie a tug. “I must have done something wrong, Ali.”

“No.” She doesn’t elaborate, moving back to the floor as Michael comes back with a tray holding drinks and sandwiches, pretzels, and jelly beans.

“I’ve got peanut butter and jelly, and ham and cheese,” he says, setting the tray on the coffee table in front of Louis. “Please tell me you’re not allergic to nuts or a vegetarian.”

Louis giggles, reaching for a glass of juice. “No, but you really didn’t have to do all this.”  

“It’s nothing.”

“You even cut the sandwiches into triangles, Michael.” Louis bites his lip through another giggle as he selects a piece.

Michael leans back against the couch with a chuckle, one arm resting on the backrest and his body angled toward Louis. “They don’t taste the same, cut into squares.”

“Is that right?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised, taking another bite.

“Trust me. Triangles are the superior shape.”

Louis breathes out a laugh, and then, after a moment of hesitation, pulls up the bottom of his joggers to reveal the small triangle tattoo on his ankle. “I agree.”

Michael leans in to inspect the ink, the tips of his fingers brushing against the thin skin. “That’s beautiful,” he says simply. “Have you got any other tattoos?”

Skin tingling from the light touch, Louis shifts his position, folding his leg under his body. “No, I almost got one with my best friend at uni, but…”

“Changed your mind last minute?” Michael guesses, offering him the plate with the sandwiches.

Louis busies himself picking out a triangle, avoiding Michael’s eyes. “My ex wouldn’t let me, actually; he hated tattoos,” he admits in a low voice. “But I had a bit of a falling out with that friend, so it was probably for the best anyway. What about you?” he continues in a rush, forcing himself to look at Michael again.

There is gentleness in his eyes, and concern in the faint wrinkling of his brow, though that clears after a second. “I don’t mind them on other people at all, but it’s a hard pass on the pain from me.”

Louis manages a weak laugh. “They _do_ hurt.”  

The conversation peters out and they both fall silent: Louis eating his bit of sandwich in small bites, while Michael sips on some juice, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“Ham and cheese?” he suggests after a minute when Louis has finished and made no move to reach for more, crossing his arms instead, fingers tugging at the material of the hoodie.

“You haven’t had any yet.”  

“It’s for you,” Michael says, setting down his empty glass on the table. “You need to eat more than half a sandwich, sweetheart.” He winces, rubbing the back of his neck, when Louis stares at him. “Sorry, Raisa told me your daemon said you hadn’t eaten anything today.”

“Well. You wouldn’t have said anything, and it’s still hours till dinner!” Alithis defends herself when Louis gives her a black look.

“I meant to have lunch, but I got… interrupted,” Louis mutters, sitting up. “I didn’t mean to impose, sorry, and thank you. I should go—”

“You weren’t—Louis—” Michael’s muddled reassurances are interrupted by a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder. “That’s gotta be a sign for you to stay,” he says with a small, winsome grin. “Until the storm passes? We can play cards, or there’s books if you want to just sit and read? I know how to be quiet, I promise.”

Though Louis' lips twitch, he hesitates. “I’m not bad at Gin Rummy,” he says finally, reaching into the bowl of pretzels. 

Michael’s grin widens. “It’s on.”

 

The summer storm has long passed by the time Louis makes to leave, though the humidity clings to the warm, evening air, which holds a strong scent of wet grass and asphalt.

“Thanks for dinner… again,” Louis says at the door, fiddling with the strings of the hoodie but smiling. “I promise I’m not doing it on purpose—I did buy some groceries.”

Michael laughs. “I can’t complain, you ended up doing most of the cooking anyway.”

Biting back a smile and rolling his eyes, Louis gives him a light swat on the chest. “Don’t exaggerate, I peeled potatoes.”

“That’s a lot of work! And you cut them too.”

Louis covers his mouth with one hand as he tries to contain a giggle. “You’re welcome then.”

Michael bursts into another laugh. “It was really good—dinner—”

“More than the potatoes. I was only joking—” Louis throws in earnestly, placing a reassuring hand on Michael’s forearm.

“—and having you over.” Michael rests a hand over Louis’ on his arm, covering it in a fleeting touch before Louis draws his hand back, blushing, with a mumbled thank you. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Maybe we can go for that ice cream we talked about?” he carries on without commenting.

Louis makes a noncommittal sound in his throat in response, but doesn’t move, dithering, tugging the sleeves of the hoodie back over his hands. His eyes dart around, but every time they return to Michael’s face he finds the same open, patient expression, and that decides him: “I’ll… I’ll take that hug now, if that’s OK.”

Michael seems thrown for a second, before quickly nodding. “Of course it’s OK,” he says, and pulls Louis in without another word, wrapping an arm around his waist and spreading a large hand on his back as though to anchor him, while rubbing small, soothing circles with the other.

On his tiptoes, Louis can hook his chin over Michael’s shoulder and hold on, hands fisted against his back as he breathes in his scent of aftershave and cooking spices. For a few seconds he’s enveloped in warmth, before he pulls back, fixing his fringe and unable to sustain eye contact.

“Right. Thanks. Good night!” he says after a moment, dashing down the garden path before he remembers he’s still wearing Michael’s hoodie. He stops and turns, clutching at the sweatshirt. “Your hoodie.”

“Tomorrow!” Michael calls, grinning.

Louis starts to raise a hand in acknowledgement, then drops it, his face hot, and hurries across the grass.

“He’s so sweet,” he says to Alithis in a hushed voice when they reach the front step.

“And funny. And smart. And fit.”

Louis’ expression grows troubled as he unlocks the door.

“And he likes you,” Alithis says emphatically. “He definitely likes you.”

Louis exhales shakily. “He wouldn’t if he knew about… everything.”

“That’s bullshit,” she replies, causing Louis to stare at her in shock. “It is.”

“Shower and movie in bed?” Louis says rather than argue. “I’m actually exhausted.” 

His daemon sighs, but rubs her head comfortingly against his knee. “Yeah.”

 

Once under the covers, and after a glass of warm milk and a dose of painkillers, everything seems to catch up with him. He doesn’t last more than half an hour through the movie before he starts to doze off.  
Nevertheless, after two minutes in the dark, he reaches for his phone.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Alithis says. “What is it?”

Louis picks at his bottom lip, staring sightlessly at the screen of his phone. “Zayn,” he answers in a breath of a whisper. “I miss him. I wish I’d got that tattoo with him.”

His daemon is silent for a long moment, enough that the screen goes black, throwing them into darkness. “You could call him,” she says finally. “He said to call, when—”

“When I was ready to leave John.”

“Yeah.”

Louis’ throat clicks when he swallows, putting down his phone. “It took me two more years to do that, Alithis. It’s been three since we last saw each other… Do you really think he’d want to hear from me now?”

Alithis presses up close against his back. “He loved you. A lot. And you love him,” she says simply.

“Do you miss Shahparee too?”  

"Of course I do.”

Louis sighs. “I don’t even know if he’s in the state; you know he always wanted to move to the west coast.”

“At least try?”

“I will. But I… I need to think about what to say.” After a few minutes, he turns around to hold Alithis, but it takes him a long time still for him to fall asleep.

—

Nine hours of tossing and turning leave him tired and aching, but also restless, unable to remain in bed once sunlight fills the room. He goes downstairs without bothering to change out of his sleep clothes, and spends a quiet hour sorting out everything in the kitchen, music in the background, while Alithis gnaws on a bit of cardboard between yawns.

Once the pots and pans are all stored in a box, he stops to munch on some crackers, stood against the counter, massaging his lower back. When he reaches for the chocolate milk in the fridge to complete his breakfast, though, he hears a car door slamming right outside the house, followed by the rattle of wheels on cement, quickly growing closer.

Heart racing, Louis sets the milk back in its place and walks into the living room just in time to hear the key turning in the lock. The front door swings open to reveal his sister, two pink overnight suitcases behind her, Bichon Frise dog daemon sitting atop one of them.

“You’re up, what a miracle!” Lottie teases when she catches sight of him. “More or less…” she adds, looking pointedly at his outfit.

Louis makes a face. “I wasn’t expecting you. You said—”

Lottie rushes up to give him a tight hug, interrupting him. “I’m here early, you can’t complain anymore.”

“You were supposed to be here Tuesday,” he mumbles, even as he holds her close.

“Oh, let me have this, Louis, I’m here now,” she replies impatiently, pulling back and looking around the living room with a frown. “Haven’t you got anything done?”

“I have. But you told me not to touch anything, so there’s only so much I could do.”

Lottie makes a dismissive sound. “It’s whatever. I brought help anyway.”

As she brings her suitcases into the house, their mother appears at the door with her own set of bags. “Hi, honey.”  

Shocked, Louis is frozen in place, while Alithis sprints to greet his mother's daemon, a lumbering brown bear that draws her close with a swipe of his huge paw. “Mom, what are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d come down and help your sister out. And see you. It’s been so long since you came to visit, Louis.”

“I was there for your birthday.”

His mother heaves a sigh as she closes the door behind her. “That was months ago. I could understand if you were a doctor, with their busy schedules, but what’s your excuse, hm?”

Louis hangs his head. “Sorry, mom.” When she opens her arms, he hurries into the embrace, closing his eyes as she cradles the back of his head and presses a kiss to his temple. He hears Lottie walk past them and up the stairs, but it’s another minute before his mother pulls back in order to look him over, still holding onto his shoulders.

“Sometimes when I look at you, I still see a little boy. _My_ little boy.” Her smile is a little tremulous, as she gives him a light shake. “My little trouble maker, I didn’t know what to do with you, you know?”

“That bad?” Louis tries to joke, but his voice falls flat.

“Not bad. Never bad, honey,” Jill says, reaching up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “But you weren’t anything like what we were expecting… It’s why your father had such a hard time. But we both did our best, believe me.”

Louis stares at her for a second before disentangling himself from the embrace to pick up her bags. “I’m sure.”

“I spoke to him, at the funeral,” she continues, following him up the stairs.

“Mm.”

“I think he might be coming round, actually.”

Louis puts the bags down as he reaches the bedroom. “Coming round to what?” he asks, turning to her incredulously. “Me?”

Jill rubs at the lines on her forehead with two fingers. “It’s been years, Louis, I think he’d give you a chance, if you gave him one. Sometimes we have to bend first—”

“Give _me_ a chance!? To do _what_?” Louis bursts with sudden anger. But it doesn’t last more than a few seconds, replaced with a numbness. “I haven’t changed, mom. The moment he takes a look at me, he’ll remember all the reasons he hated me,” he says in a low monotone.

“He doesn’t hate—” she starts to protest.

“All the ways I didn’t live up to his expectations then,” Louis amends, scooping Alithis up and holding her to his chest, eyes stinging.

His mother looks at him for a long moment, then asks, barely above a whisper, “Do you... still have to take them… the painkillers?”

At his nod, her face crumples, but she doesn’t say anything until almost a full minute later, when she raises a hand to fuss with her hair. “I’ll just step into the bathroom for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

Louis nods again, though she’s turned her back on him already. “I’ll go get dressed,” he says as the door of the ensuite snaps closed behind her.

He doesn’t expect to find Lottie in the hall, leaning against the wall with her daemon in her arms. “Are you and mom fighting again?” she asks with a pretence of disinterest, looking down at her nails.

“When have we ever fought?” Louis returns lifelessly.

“All the time.” She gives a short, bitter laugh. “I remember. Mom would lock herself up in the bathroom, and dad would take me to the mall so that we didn’t have to hear her crying. When we came back she was always back to normal, but you… you were always…” Lottie shakes her head, mouth twisting to the side. “You were so quiet. I remember days you didn’t say a word, didn’t make any noise at all unless you were sat at the piano.”

Louis swallows past the lump in his throat. “I tried to teach you to play when you were little.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t really my thing,” she says shortly.

They stand in silence, neither of them looking at each other, before Lottie speaks up again in a low voice. “Everything was easier once you left, you know? Even after mom and dad divorced.”

Short of breath all of a sudden, Louis bites his lip hard. “I’m sorry.”

Lottie makes a quiet sound of acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at him. “Mom and I were thinking of going out for lunch later? We figured you wouldn’t have anything to eat in the house.”

Louis clear his throat, but his voice still comes out scratchy. “Sure. We can do that.”

“Great.” Lottie bounds downstairs without another look at him, her long hair swinging behind her.

 

They eat lunch at a new bistro at the food court, the conversation revolving around Lottie’s beach vacation and upcoming job modelling for a supermarket catalogue, as well as Jill’s latest pastime doing ceramic and her volunteering position at the retirement home. Neither of them ask much about what Louis is doing and he doesn't volunteer anything, limiting himself to showing interest—making an especial effort after what Lottie had said that morning.

When everyone has finished their food, he excuses himself to the bathroom. But once out of their view, he hurries past the toilets and straight to the nearest store to buy cigarettes and a lighter.

“I thought you had to use the toilet…” Alithis says with a hint of reproach as he follows the signs to the closest exit, his calves burning from the urgent pace.

“I need a moment.” Louis scratches with blunt nails at the plastic film on the pack in the last steps before he crosses the automatic doors out to the parking lot. “I really need a moment.”

Alithis doesn’t comment further, standing silent at his side as he gets the pack open and tips out a cigarette with shaking hands. The first drag makes his throat burn, and his lungs constrict, spasming for a split second, before he exhales, half a cough. The second drag is smoother as he eases into the old, familiar habit, though he can’t quite even out his breathing.

“How are you going to explain the smell?” his daemon asks after a moment.

Louis shakes his head jerkily. “I don’t… I don’t want to think, or talk, for a minute, please.” He stares out across the car park to the street while he smokes, watching an ambulance zoom past, siren blaring so loud it drowns out every other sound for a minute. When he finishes the first cigarette, he stubs it out, and immediately reaches for another one.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” Alithis warns gently. “It’s been a while.”

He hesitates for a long moment, before giving in with a sigh, slipping the cigarette back into place and stuffing the pack in the pocket of his jean jacket.

Even though he races back to the food court, his mother and sister are obviously waiting for him, table cleared and grocery bags ready at their feet. “I was about to let someone know I’d lost my boy,” Jill jokes when Louis walks up to them.

“Sorry, the bathroom was out of order, so I had to find the other one.”

Wrinkling her nose, Lottie makes a disbelieving nose. “Whatever. Shall we go back? I want to change before the party.”

“Party?” Louis echoes in confusion.

“This evening. Mrs. Corden invited us—you just missed her,” Jill explains as she stands up, thanking Louis distractedly when he takes the shopping bags to carry them to the car. “I suppose you must have heard by now that Simon—Mr. Cowell—is going to be the new headmaster at your old school?” she continues carefully.

Louis shifts his grip on the bags. “I heard.”

“The party tonight is to celebrate his promotion.”

“Mhm.”

“Karen said not to worry about bringing anything.” Jill holds onto the strap of her handbag, quickening her step. “So we have just about enough time to go home, get some rest, and get ready—casual dress, nothing fancy.”

Looking at her phone while walking, Lottie lags behind. “I found the event on Facebook!” she announces.“It’s a big one—so many people have confirmed they’re going. I wonder if there’s a free bar…”

Jill’s admonishing look lacks strength. “It’s at the school, Lottie, I don’t think—”

“Oh, look, Louis, you’re on here,” Lottie interrupts.

“What?”

Louis stops in his tracks, and Lottie holds her phone out for him to see. In the album of pictures for the event, there is one of a fifteen year old Louis at a school function, Simon at his side, a hand gripping the back of his neck.

“It’s weird to see your daemon in another form,” his sister comments, glancing at Alithis. “I’d forgotten how old you were when she settled.”

In the picture, though a similar reddish brown colour, Alithis is the size of a teapot: a lop eared rabbit, cradled in the crook of Louis’ arm.

Jill stiffens when she catches sight of the photo. “They shouldn’t have used that picture,” she says brusquely. “It will remind everyone of… that.” She frowns at the phone for a second before pressing on toward the exit.

Stomach roiling, Louis follows her out, Lottie trailing behind him, once again engrossed in her phone.

“Well, it’s done, and no use crying over spilt milk.” His mother hurries to open the trunk of the car for him to leave the bags. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve got the guest of honour vouching for you, don’t you?” she finishes with a short, unnatural laugh that makes bile rise in Louis’ throat.

Though he waits until they are both in the car to answer, his voice still shakes. “Mom, I didn’t commit a crime, that I need to be vouched for.”

“No, of course not,” she says absently as she fastens her seatbelt. “And we got it fixed, didn’t we? It will be nice to catch up with everyone. I’ll get to show off my two beautiful babies. Although I'm not looking forward to telling them what you do, Louis—everyone knows how I was hoping you would study to be a doctor.”

Backing out of the parking space, Louis grips the wheel tight enough his knuckles ache. “I’m not going.”

“You have to go—what will it look like if we show up without you? Lottie never even had Simon as her teacher.”

“And if I have to go, so do you,” Lottie huffs from the backseat.

Louis glances at his mother. “I don’t understand why you even want to go. Why are you celebrating him? He’s—”

“He’s an institution in this town, Louis, like it or not.” She taps an agitated rhythm on her bag. “And what _I_ don’t understand is how you can even think of not going, after everything he did for you.”

“ _Mom_.” Without thinking, he takes his eyes off the road to gape at her.

Jill raises a trembling chin. “You blame him for something that wasn’t his fault, even though he supported you through it—and wrote you that letter of recommendation for college!”

“I would have got in without him,” he says hoarsely.

“You don’t know that; your grades slipped in the last year.”

He can’t do anything but stare at her in dismay, vision blurring with tears.

“Louis!” Lottie screeches, and Louis jerks the wheel when he realises he was slipping into the other lane. “I’m sorry, Lotts. Sorry,” he gasps, rubbing tears from his eyes.

“You owe him, and we’re all going, end of discussion,” his mother says after a minute.

 

He can hear them going back and forth between their rooms, the murmur of their conversation punctuated by laughter and excited chatter, while he lies on the bed, arms over his face, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“You can do this,” Alithis whispers when the knock at the door comes.

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

There’s another knock, a bit louder.

Louis tries to call out, but can’t find his voice. When he comes out a minute later, though, he finds Lottie still at the door. She looks him over with mild disapproval, but her tone isn’t unkind when she says, “Oh, come on, it won’t be as bad as all that. The first thing we’ll do is find you a drink, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Louis gives her a faint smile. “Still convinced about that free bar?”

Lottie grins. “Fingers crossed.”

Waiting by the door, Jill opens her arms to Louis when he goes downstairs.

He folds himself into her embrace. “Mom—”

She doesn’t let him continue, pulling back and thumbing at his cheek. “You’re a good son, always so good to your mother.”

Louis swallows thickly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, honey,” she replies, tugging him down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Now let’s go, we don’t want to be late.”

 

Although some parts of the school have been renovated, the sense of stepping back in time is overwhelming.

Louis stands at the entrance to the gymnasium, heart racing in his chest, fighting the urge to turn tail and run. He rubs his hands together in a nervous gesture as he scans the room, from the tables with drinks and food arranged against the walls, to the old fashioned decorations: balloons and paper streamers.

“Do you see Simon?” Jill asks, next to him, peering around. “We should greet him first.”

“I can’t see him.”

“I’m sure we’ll see him later.” She locks arms with Louis, and tugs Lottie close. “But there’s Tina—Do you remember her, Lottie? She always helped me with your hair for ballet.”

For the next hour, Jill does a round of the room, greeting all her old acquaintances, letting go of Louis and Lottie only to give greeting hugs. She does most of the talking, exchanging pleasantries with ease and enthusiasm.

Lottie preens when she is complimented, and listens with obvious interest when any bit of gossip is discussed, though she rolls her eyes at Louis behind their mother’s back a few times, stifling laughter when Louis pulls a face in response. Louis forces himself to smile through it all for his mother—even every time she admits shamefaced that Louis hadn’t studied to be a doctor, after all—but his smile falters whenever Simon is mentioned, and it’s difficult for him to stand still.

“Stop fidgeting, Louis, please, what are people going to think?” she tells him in an undertone.

Louis lets go of the bottom of his sweater where he was tugging it down again, an apology rising on his lips automatically.

“Mom, we’re going to get something to drink,” Lottie pipes up, starting to pull Louis away by the elbow. “We’ll meet you by the cake later.”

“Oh, go on.” Jill waves them away, rolling her eyes. But Louis still thanks Lottie once they are out of earshot.

“Yeah, you owe me,” she replies without looking at him. Louis follows the direction of her gaze to a boy with a koala daemon, stood in a small group of young people around her age. “You can manage on your own, right?” Once she has a drink in her hand, Lottie makes a beeline to them, leaving Louis to find a place against the wall, as far from everyone as possible.

“This isn’t alcoholic enough,” he mutters to Alithis after taking a sip from the punch.

“It’s more than there was at graduation,” Alithis tries to joke, but even she is subdued, channeling his exhaustion.

Louis sighs, and takes another sip, casting an eye around the room, feeling in another world from the small groups of conversation and laughter that surround him. He tries to focus on the music, but it reaches him in fits and starts.

When he spots Chief Stringer arrive with his Komodo dragon daemon slinking into the room after him, the music is drowned out completely for a fraction of a second as ringing fills his ears. He can feel Alithis trembling against his leg.

“Hey—”

His eyes fixed on Stringer and his daemon, Louis jumps at the unexpected voice next to him, while Alithis leaps into the air.

Michael winces, instinctively reaching out to place a bracing, comforting hand on his arm. “Shit. Sorry, Louis, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Louis shakes his head, heart still in his throat, holding his hand out to Alithis, who touches her nose to his palm before rubbing her head against his knee.

Michael waves a helpless hand toward his horse daemon, who gives an apologetic nicker.  “I’m not used to being able to sneak up on people, to be honest,” he says with a tentative smile.

Louis breathes out a surprised, somewhat frenzied laugh, then dips his head, fixing his fringe and tucking his hair behind his ear in a quick movement. “I was distracted, it’s my fault.”

“Not at all.” Michael digs into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a handful of napkins. “And I made you spill your drink. Let me—” His hand slides down Louis’ arm to below his elbow—holding him in place while he dabs at the wet sleeve with a napkin—and then to his wrist, so that he can wipe his palm and fingers. However, he falters after a moment. “Sweetheart, are you alright? You’re shaking.”

Louis meets no resistance when he draws his hand back against his chest. “I’m fine,” he says, and then, looking up at him earnestly: “Thank you, Michael.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t press the issue.  “What do you think of the music?” he asks instead with a smile.

“Mm. It would help if I could hear it.”

Michael laughs. “I’m not sure it would, actually,” he says, making Louis chuckle. “But, really, I think they might be trying to dissuade people from dancing—this feels too much like a high school prom as it is.”

Fiddling with the squished plastic paper cup, Louis lets out a faint, rueful laugh. “It really does. You have no idea.”

Picking up on his mood, Michael’s expression sobers for an instant, before he gives Louis another gentle smile. “I’d vote for you to be crowned prom king… or queen.”

Louis breathes a soft laugh, ducking his head. “Thanks,” he says, deadpan, but he can’t help but smile, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“You have such a beautiful smile,” Michael murmurs, eyes roving over his face.

“Louis, there you are! I was looking all over for you.”

Louis’ smile is wiped clear from his face when he sees his mother approaching with Chief Stringer. Grunting with fear, Alithis hides behind his legs.

Stringer greets him by grabbing his whole arm to shake with both hands, followed by an enthusiastic clap to his shoulder. “Louis, you must be delighted to be here to honour Simon. You’re one of his biggest success stories.” He keeps his hand, warm and damp even through fabric, on Louis’ shoulder. “To get _you_ through high school and into college was quite a feat.”

So tense he can feel himself shaking, Louis can’t bring himself to look at Michael at his side. “I studied. I sat the exams alone,” he says steadily.

“I taught you a little more humility than that, Louis,” his mother chides him. “You did your part, but Simon had a hand in it too.”

“No matter. Simon isn’t looking for any credit when he offers his help.” Stringer’s fingers tighten on his shoulder, even as he grins. “Though a little appreciation is never amiss, is it?”

“Of course not.” Jill frowns, lips pursed. “I am grateful to Simon for everything he did for my family, I wouldn’t want anyone to think any differently.”

Louis stares at his mother, but she avoids his eyes. Throat burning, he swallows hard, standing stock still though he wants nothing more than to get Stringer’s hand off him.  

“Hi, I’m Michael, I don’t think we’ve met.” Michael thrusts his left hand out, so that Stringer has no choice but to let go of Louis so he can shake Michael’s hand—his right hand he spreads on Louis’ back in an unexpected, but comforting touch. “Why don’t I introduce you to my parents, right over there?”

He strokes down Louis’ back, soothing and reassuring, for a second, before leading his mother and Stringer away.

Left alone, Louis feels both like he can breathe again, and like he might actually be sick. On instinct, he stumbles through the room and out into the hall, knowing there is a bathroom near.

As he rounds the corner, a door opens, startling him.

Simon’s face doesn’t allow for a lot of expression, but his eyebrows rise in surprise for a second, before his mouth stretches into a smile. “Louis! Buddy.”

Paralysed, Louis doesn’t react when Simon walks up to him and grips both his shoulders as he looks him over. “It’s so good to see you.”

A low, inarticulate sound gets caught in Louis’ throat.

“Why don’t you come into my office?”

Galvanised into movement, Louis flinches and starts to shake his head, but Simon tightens the grip on his shoulders. “I insist. We have to catch up.”

With a firm hand on the back of his neck, he steers Louis into his office, closing the door behind them.

“A step up from the teacher’s lounge, isn’t it?” he says, gesturing for Louis to take a seat in front of the desk, giving him a last squeeze before letting him go. “And what do you think, I don’t look too bad for my age, do I? Be honest.”

Despite himself, Louis shakes his head. “You look good,” he says in a hushed voice.

Simon sits behind his desk, smiling placidly. “Thank you, darling.”

Louis stands, hands clasped in front of him, tight enough to hurt, Alithis quivering at his side. His gaze is drawn to where Simon’s parasitoid wasp daemon crawls along the collar of his shirt, black against white.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come—you never replied to my invitation,” Simon says after a moment.

Louis looks him in the eye when he answers: “I didn’t open the letter.”

Simon considers him for a moment before smiling again. “Rude, Louis,” he says, his tone playful but with an edge behind it. “Eight years, and still holding on to your little grudge? Do you think anyone could have done more for you than I did?”

Louis stares at the floor for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, before raising his head to look at Simon. “You didn’t do anything for me,” he says, almost inaudible. “I asked you for help—”

“And I helped you.”

Breath coming short, Louis shakes his head. “You saw—I told you _everything_ , and you did nothing.”

Simon pinches his jowl between thumb and forefinger as he looks at Louis, a small frown on his face. “Didn’t I? When you needed an extension for an assignment, to resit an exam even, a pass for being late or missing class one too many times…? You wouldn’t have completed your senior year, if it weren’t for me, Louis.”

“You were the only one who knew _why_ I had trouble keeping up.” His throat is so tight his speech comes out hoarse and clipped.  

“And I protected your secret—I protected you.”

“You protected _them_. I wanted you to make it _stop_ ,” Louis says, his voice breaking.

Simon stands up from behind his desk, a hand in the pocket of his blue jeans. “I did everything I could. Your parents wanted you to be fixed… I found someone who could fix you.”

Louis’ head whips up. “You—”

Simon nods. “Dr. Azoff is an old friend of a mine. I spoke to your father, told him there might be a solution to your problem: a treatment, experimental, but… he was desperate. A sixteen year old boy with his daemon still unsettled? It was quite…  unnatural.” He leans against the desk, shaking his head. “You didn’t make it easy for him, Louis.”

“You were the one who suggested it?” Louis asks, head spinning.

“I’d mentioned you to Irving before, and he was very interested in… working with you. He has an especial interest in daemons. Your parents were looking for someone who could help you, and I knew if anyone could, it was him.”

Louis blinks, his chest aching. “He—It still hurts—” he chokes out. “It hurt so much, every week. You know what he did to me—”

Simon tilts his head as his daemon crawls up the side of his neck, a faint buzzing audible. He smiles as he pushes off the desk and approaches Louis. “Irving was impressed by your endurance. You were so useful for his research. And it paid off for you. The treatment worked, your daemon settled in a matter of mere months…”

The chair behind Louis scrapes across the floor as he takes a step back. He isn’t expecting Simon to reach for Alithis instead, gripping the back of her neck.

“And in such a beautiful form too.”

Louis cries out, his breath catching in his chest.

“Your parents were pleased, grateful. I would have thought you would want them to be happy?” Simon carries on, his voice level: he is having no trouble keeping Alithis in place as she tries to writhe out of his grasp, gasping. “Does it feel the same, to have your daemon touched now that she’s settled?” he asks, stroking her head.

“Stop,” Louis wheezes. “Please.”

“I feel a special connection to her, you know? Irving did too.” Simon shakes his head, never taking his hands off Louis’ daemon. “What were you thinking, trying to report us to the police? After everything we did for you?”

Louis grasps at the arm of the chair behind him, struggling to stay on his feet.

“You needed my help. You asked for my help. All I did was help you, Louis, why can't you see that?” he says heavily, finally releasing Alithis, who throws herself at Louis.

Louis falls back against the chair, clutching Alithis to his chest.

Simon looks down at him for a moment, expression inscrutable, before he breaks into a smile. “Now I better get going—I’m missing my own party!” He pulls Louis to his feet, without violence and without gentleness. “You’ll come to visit again, won’t you?” he asks after locking his office, thumping him on the back one last time.

It seems brighter and louder in the hall, and Louis blinks, dazed.

“You’ll always be my favourite student!” Simon calls as he walks away.

Louis stands frozen for a minute, before he turns heel and runs to the bathroom down the hall, retching. He sets Alithis down, and staggers to the nearest cubicle, the door swinging too far in its hinges so that it bangs against the wall.

He throws up until he starts dry heaving, then slides down the wall to the floor, shivers wracking his body.

“Louis,” Alithis says desperately, her voice croaky and frantic like she’s been repeating herself. “Please, talk to me.”

Louis cracks his eyes open. “That was fucking awful,” Louis rasps with a hoarse, hysterical laugh. But he lowers one of his legs so that his daemon can snuggle up against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Alithis moans. “I wasn’t fast enough, or strong enough to get away from him.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Louis says, and keeps repeating it as he pets her, running his hands over where Simon had touched her, again and again, like he can wipe his touch off her. After a minute, he has to give up, his limbs weak. He lets out a strangled sob. “Fuck.”

“Louis?”

He swallows a whimper, not recognising the voice at first, and strains to reach the door to shut it, but he can’t before Michael walks up to the open cubicle. His horse daemon blocking out most of the light for a moment before she lowers her head to Alithis, snuffling.

Wide eyed, Michael immediately drops to a crouch in front of him. “Louis, are you OK? What happened? Jesus, you’re white as a sheet.” He reaches out cautiously to palm the side of Louis’ neck, then slides back to massage the base of his head, though it’s damp with cold sweat.

Louis bites back a whine at the touch, though his eyes slip shut for a second in spite of himself before his flight response kicks in, the desperate need to get out and get away taking hold of him again. “I’m… I’m going to call a taxi—we came in my sister’s car—I need—” he scrabbles around for his phone, breath coming too fast. “Do you have the number for—I need—” he stammers.

Michael stills his hands with a light touch, and cups his face. “You want to go home, I’ll take you home, Louis,” he says in a reassuring voice.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to even his breathing. “Please.”

“Should I get your mum, or your sister?”

“No, no.” Louis reaches for his hands, and Michael pulls him to his feet without a word, holding his elbows to steady him once he’s standing. “I just want—need—to go, please.”

Michael hovers while Louis splashes some water on his face and rinses his mouth, his hands half raised as though in preparation to catch him if he collapses. He hastens to open the door for him, and although Louis tries to give him a reassuring smile he doesn’t manage much more than a twitch of his lips.

Louis can tell Michael is holding back from touching him, and while he isn’t sure if he wants more hands on him, he welcomes Michael walking close enough they brush against each other. He finds himself leaning into his warmth, until the fear of bumping into anyone in the hall hits him, and he starts walking as fast as he can, rubbing his hands together close to his chest in an unconscious gesture.

Michael keeps pace without trouble and without comment, even when Louis doesn’t slow down after they leave the gym behind.

Silent except for the sound of their footsteps and the clip of hooves from their daemons, the sudden sound of cheering from the gym as they are nearing the exit is shocking, and Louis freezes with a sharp inhalation. Resting a hand on his lower back, Michael encourages him to keep moving with a light, patient touch. He removes his hand once Louis starts moving, and Louis finds himself grasping at his arm, holding onto him in a light grip while Michael guides him to the exit.

“I’ll bring the car over, I don’t want you getting wet,” he says when they step outside, turning to look at Louis, who shakes his head, his grip on Michael’s upper arm tightening reflexively. Michael reaches up to hold Louis’ hand on his arm, giving his fingers a comforting squeeze. “Sweetheart, it’ll only be a minute.”

After a deep breath, Louis nods.

When Louis releases his arm, however, Michael keep ahold of his hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “I’ll leave Raisa with you,” he says after a moment and a shared quick look with his daemon.

Louis stares at him wide eyed. Interaction between a person's daemon and other people is not a trivial matter. It shows a level of intimacy and trust. From a simple acknowledgement of their presence, to communication, to touch—reserved for the closest relationships.

“She can’t ride in the car, anyway,” Michael adds with a small, crooked grin, before taking off into the rain without warning. “I’ll be right back!” he calls.

Stunned and still feeling sluggish, Louis waits, glancing at Michael’s daemon a few times, but avoiding eye contact. Alithis paces around them impatiently, until Louis picks her up to get in the car.  
Michael has a quiet conversation with Raisa through the window while Louis goes around to the passenger side and settles in the seat with Alithis on his lap.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” she whispers, her head pressed against his chest.

A hand to his chest, Louis' eyes slip closed as he tries to regulate his breathing. A minute later low music starts playing, and the car starts moving forward.

“Thank you,” Louis says quietly, opening his eyes.

“No problem,” Michael replies collectedly as he manoeuvres out of the school’s parking lot.

Louis twists in his seat to look behind them, checking that Michael’s daemon is following. “Doesn’t it hurt, being so far from her?” He can’t help but ask.

Michael glances in the rear view mirror, but his posture is relaxed as he drives, focused on negotiating the rain. “No. It hurt the first time, but much less the second, and the third… It’s a gradual process, the stretching, so it’s not so bad,” he explains. “Although until the end of the first week I wasn’t sure if I’d make it; I thought of giving up every day. But once it’s done, there’s no pain at all.”

“That’s good,” Louis says honestly, but he's preoccupied. Looking out the window for a long moment, he worries at his lips. “You remember, though, how it hurt at first?”

“Yeah. I don’t think that’s something you can forget,” Michael answers gravely, matching Louis’ quiet, troubled tone.

Louis follows the progress of raindrops on the window. “It hurts, all the time, for me,” he confesses after a minute. “Like that first week you weren’t sure if you could see it through,” he continues when he’s met with silence.

“Even when you’re holding her?” Michael asks finally.

“Mhm.” Louis closes his eyes briefly, eyelids trembling as tears threaten to spill.

Michael offers him his hand across the console without a word, and Louis takes it, letting his hand be engulfed in Michael’s for a minute in a fervent, comforting grip. Then he pulls back to hold Alithis to his chest again, and Michael returns both hands to the wheel.

“I’ve got… questions.” Louis shrinks in on himself at those words, but then Michael continues: “Is there anything I can do? What do you need?”

Louis wipes a tear from his cheek. “This is… good. Thank you. I just… want to go home.”

They drive in silence the rest of the way except for the music playing softly in the background. But as they near the neighbourhood, Louis starts feeling overwhelmed, so that he unfastens his seatbelt, despite the warning beeping, and when Michael slows down in front of the house, he opens the door without waiting for the car to come to a full stop.

“Louis! Wait!” Michael yelps, making a grab at him. He catches hold of the loose material of his sleeve, but lets go when Louis closes the door again. “Why don’t you come over? Or I can stay with you for a bit, until you feel better.”

“I’ll be fine, Michael." Louis summons a tired smile. "You should get back to the party.”

Michael snorts, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m good. Please, there has to be something I can do.”

“You’ve done more than enough. I don’t know how to thank you,” he says, voice wobbling.

Michael considers him for a second. “Maybe a hug?”

Louis blinks in surprise, but finally nods, shifting so they can hug across the console, Alithis fitting herself out of the way between him and the door.

Michael rubs his back as they hug, and Louis is struck by how different the weight and warmth of his hands feels in comparison to Simon’s and Stringer’s. He lets himself rest against Michael, enveloped in his arms, and, despite the awkward position, feels his body growing heavier, exhaustion catching up with him. He forces himself to pull away.

“Thank you.”

“I asked _you_ for the hug. Thank _you_ ,” Michael counters with gentle, teasing smile.

Louis breathes a small laugh, but shakes his head. “I love cuddles,” he admits bashfully, fixing his fringe in a nervous gesture when his eyes meet Michael’s as they look up from his lips.

“You’re so lovely,” Michael says simply.

The sincerity in his voice makes Louis’ face crumple, feeling close to tears again. “I… I have to go.” he says, gathering Alithis up and opening the door again.

“Louis—”

“Thank you again.”

“Do you have any chocolate in?” Michael calls, leaning out of his seat as Louis gets out of the car.

“What?” Louis asks in bewilderment.

“I’ll go get some and bring it over, OK?”

Louis blinks the rain from his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

Michael shrugs. “I want to,” he says, looking at Louis straight on. “Now go, before you catch cold.”

Louis nods absently as he becomes aware of Raisa, glistening in the rain, standing next to the car—he hadn’t noticed when she had caught up.

“I’ll be over in a little while,” Michael says.

“Thank you,” Louis repeats quietly before closing the door. He waves a hand in farewell in front of the window, then turns his back and rushes to the house.

The dizziness doesn’t hit him until he stops moving. Louis leans his weight against the closed door behind him, one arm wrapped around his middle. Weeks of dust disturbed by their presence in the house have lent a heaviness to the air that seems to weigh him down further.

“Why didn’t you go with Michael?” Alithis asks quietly.

Louis heaves a sigh, raising a hand to his chest to rub at the ache deep inside. “I don’t think anyone should have to deal with… this.”

“With you, you mean,” she says slowly in a hushed voice.

Breathing out a wet, strangled laugh, Louis gives no more answer than a small shrug. “He gives very good hugs, you know,” he whispers after a minute with a tremulous smile, sliding his hand from his chest up to hold his shoulder.

Whimpering, Alithis rams into his legs, and rubs her head against his thigh  frantically. Louis lets go of his shoulder to pet her. “It’s fine, Ali.”

Alithis groans, stilling, but head still pushed tight against his leg. “No, it’s not.”

Louis makes no reply, scratching the top of her head absently as he stares into the gloom of the living room, forehead creasing when he realises someone has put a box and cleaning products on top of the piano.

Alithis makes a questioning noise when he pushes away from the door, but understands at once, following him to the piano.

Louis clears the top and opens the fall board to run his fingers over the keys, his finger slips causing a note to ring, breaking the silence. He presses down on another key. Then, in spite of himself, he sits down on the bench. Mouth dry, he positions his hands, and starts playing a short piece, humming under his breath.

A sudden bang upstairs makes him hit the wrong note before he stops, so that it hangs discordant in the air.

The open window is in the last room he checks: his old childhood bedroom, where Lottie would be sleeping. He wrestles the window closed, before checking to see the damage. Although his bedroom had been refurbished, Louis recognises some of his old books among the pile his sister had thrown haphazardly into a box. The perfectionist in him wins out and he squats down to fix them, lips pursed.

When he picks up a folder slotted in between some books, a handful of loose papers fall out onto the floor.

“Isn’t that…?” Alithis voices, as she too recognises the logo in the letterheads.

Louis gathers the papers, heart pounding inexplicably in his chest.

There’s a consent form authorising Dr. Irving Azoff  to provide the medical care determined necessary for his welfare, and a page of observations on the patient as supplied by the family and others—signed by Simon, his father, and his mother.

He stares at the signatures, nausea returning in full force.

“Louis,” Alithis breathes, nudging his shoulder with her head in concern.

“Coming here was a mistake,” he says shortly. “We need to go.”

He slips the papers back in the folder and in the box between some books, then hurries to his room, where he gathers his painkillers, chargers, and laptop into his bag, and makes a sweep of the room for his clothes before zipping up his small suitcase. He considers Michael’s hoodie at the foot of the bed for a minute, then slips it on over his damp jumper.

“We’re leaving now?” Alithis asks doubtfully. “It’s a long drive—”

“A few hours. It’s still early,” Louis replies briefly, taking his suitcase and bag down the stairs. “I can’t stay.”

“You should eat something before, at least, you threw up.”

“I’ll be sick again if I do right now,” he says, but relents enough to grab a coke from the fridge on his way out.

“What about Michael?” Alithis asks, stalling getting in the car despite the rain.

Louis ushers her in and closes the door without answering.

 

As he drives onto the street he sees Michael leaving his house; sees him staring after Louis’ car as it drives away.

“You didn’t even get his number,” his daemon sighs.

Louis burrows his chin into the neck of the hoodie—it smells like Michael. “What would be the point? It wouldn’t lead to anything anyway.”

“Why not? It could.”

“And if it did.. what if it was like how it was with John?” Louis grips the wheel with both hands, though it makes pain shoot from the cut on his palm. “I can’t go through that again. But I don’t know if I could make it stop,” he goes on, choking up. “Maybe that’s the only way it can be with me, but I… I can’t. I don’t want it then.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

Louis wipes his nose with the back of his hand, sniffling. “Sometimes it’s really hard to believe that.”

“I know,” Alithis says sadly.

Turning on the music, Louis drives on.  
 

Just past 10 PM a van sideswipes his car as it passes him on the road. While the van continues at high speed, the blow causes his car to lurch and skid on the wet asphalt. Louis loses control of the car.

He is conscious when the car crashes into the median barrier, the impact jarring to the bone, and as it scrapes along the guardrail for a couple dozen feet until it hits the light pole.

The last thing he remembers is the smell of metal and asphalt, and the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a long time for Louis to wake up, even after he becomes conscious, his surroundings filtering in and making sense at a slow pace: the murmur of hushed voices and the sound of footsteps and wheels on vinyl flooring—no beeping this time, though he remembers it in the background when he was told he had been in an accident and was in the hospital—and the smell: disinfectant, and that unidentifiable, unpleasant sweetness that sticks to the back of the throat.

On top of the hospital smell, however, there’s something else now, achingly familiar; though, still disoriented, he struggles to place it.

Louis ventures to move, feeling cool, rough bed sheets under his hand before he meets warmth: at his side, Alithis—breathing in deep when he runs stiff fingers through her short hair—and at his feet. He knows before he opens his eyes, but the sight of the black swan daemon at his feet still makes his breath catch in his chest, bringing about a burst of pain. The daemon inclines her head, letting her red bill brush against his shin over the sheet.

“You’re awake! Good. How are you feeling? I’m Jade.” A tiny nurse with a gecko daemon stuck to her shoulder walks in with a wide smile.

“Where is he?” Louis blurts out instead of answering.

“Don’t worry, he just stepped out to get something to eat.”

Louis blinks at her, nonplussed. “He’s really here?” he says dumbly.

Jade bites back a smile. “Yes,” she replies, stretching out the vowel. “You’re not hallucinating, sweetie, that’s his daemon right there. He got here around eight, from what I understand, a little after you were brought down from the recovery room.”

Louis stares at the black swan daemon, who looks at him serenely from above the edge of her wing, before turning back to the nurse. “What time is it now?”

“Noon. Once the doctor has another look at you, we’ll bring you some lunch, how does that sound?”

Louis shrugs, mumbling a distracted assent before he remembers himself and offers Jade a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Are you in any pain?” Jade asks as she checks the IV drip.

“Not much.”

“That’s good. Let me or another nurse know if that changes—there’s no reason for you to be in pain. Got it?”

Lips twisted in a small, rueful smile, Louis nods. “Got it. Thank you.”

Attaching a clip-on monitor to the tip of his pointer finger, it doesn’t take her more than a couple of minutes to read his vital signs and write them down on her clipboard.

“Let me help you sit up a bit—there we go. Are you comfortable?” Jade brushes a bit of hair that has come loose from her ponytail back from her face, then picks up her clipboard again, making to leave. “Dr. Aoki will be around in a few minutes to explain your surgery and answer any questions you might have. And _I_ will see you later. Try to get as much rest as you can, alright?”

Louis doesn’t miss the curious glance Jade sneaks at the daemon at his feet as she leaves, and his own eyes are drawn back the black swan, who starts preening, unconcerned. He exchanges a look with Alithis, before dropping his head back against the pillow with a sigh.

A jovial ‘Afternoon!’ startles him out of a drowse. He jerks awake with an audible gasp, kicking out his leg, disturbing the black swan daemon, who stands up, partially spreading her wings for balance.

Blushing, Louis scrubs a hand over his face, wincing at the sting of some scrapes on his face he hadn’t been aware of till then. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

The doctor, a youthful middle aged man with a common squirrel monkey daemon, waves a dismissive hand with a laugh. “I’m running late with the rounds, nothing wrong with catching a bit of shut eye while you wait.”

Louis breathes out a faint, embarrassed laugh. “I literally just woke up.”

The doctor shakes his head, chuckling. “You just had surgery, and are on pain medication, I think you can be excused, Louis.” Stepping up to the bed, he holds out his hand for Louis to shake. “I’m Dr. Steve Aoki, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Steve lets out another laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment, given the circumstances,” he says, flashing a grin, which Louis timidly returns,

Fingering the stethoscope around his neck, Steve casts a glance at the daemon at his feet. “Um. Visitors have to step outside while I see the patient…” he says uncertainly, not addressing anyone in particular.

Although a step ladder was set up for Alithis, the swan glides down from the bed to the floor, traversing half the room in the process. Alithis whips her head around to look at Louis, eyes wide with alarm. As the swan waddles out the door, Louis clutches at the bed sheet, bunching up the fabric, chest tight with anxiety—what if she and her human didn’t come back?

“I’ve never had to tell a daemon to clear the room before,” Steve remarks after closing the door, amusement in his voice. “And I spent nine months among witches—training with a healing clan in Dubai—” he explains. “One of the most amazing experiences of my life.”

“Zayn’s never been outside the States,” Louis finds himself saying in response. “He’s scared of flying. And he can’t swim, so he won’t get on a boat.”

Steve snorts. “Well, there’s always Canada,” he jokes, chucking his monkey daemon under the chin with a conspiratorial grin.

Louis obliges him with a chuckle, but saying the words out loud has brought a sense of reality that was missing before, and he’s reeling. Zayn is here.

Steve has just taken his leave when a hospital attendant appears at the door with the meal cart.

“Is he gone?” she asks, peering into the room. “Gone for good?” she insists after Louis nods in response to the first question.

Louis frowns with some confusion. “From the hospital? I think he still had other patients to see.”

The attendant clucks her tongue as she enters the room, her rooster daemon strutting in before her. “I don’t mean the doctor. I mean that… _witch_ , that’s been hanging around all day.”

Alithis bristles at the obvious repugnance in her emphasis of the word witch.

“Is there a problem?” Louis asks, his frown deepening.

The attendant purses her lips as she busies herself setting up the rolling over bed table, but finally answers in a furious whisper: “Witches aren’t human.”

Louis stares at her stonily. “And?”

She shakes her head, scowling, and keeps silent as she fetches the meal tray from the car and places it before him on the table. “It’s not right,” she mutters, however, as she lifts the cover from the tray.

“There’s nothing wrong with him, or any witch,” Louis says quietly.

The attendant raises her eyebrows, disbelieving, but leaves without another word.

Alithis lets out a disgruntled snort. “Can you believe her?” she says, indignant.

“What if _he_ was the patient? What would she have done then?” Louis says, toying with the jello cup.

“Starve him, probably, if it were up to her,” Alithis huffs. But then continues tearfully: “You remember how difficult it was for them to find a place second year? I’d never seen Shahparee cry before that.”

“I remember.” Louis has to clear his throat a few times before he can talk. “I know the rationale behind it, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.”

After a minute, Alithis nudges the tray with her nose. “Your lunch is getting cold.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Louis says, eyeing the food dubiously. “Maybe the jello.”

“Try the soup, at least.”

Louis finishes a third of the bowl, then attempts the mashed potatoes and carrots and steamed fish at his daemon’s urging. Munching on a mouthful of potato, and distracted separating the carrots on his plate, he doesn’t notice him at the door.

“How is it?” Zayn asks.

Louis looks up, oddly calm, and they study each other in silence while he finishes chewing and swallows. “Not that bad,” he replies finally. “Nowhere near as bad as your cooking.”

Zayn’s mouth tilts in a lopsided smile as he leans against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. “You always somehow managed to be a fussy eater and still have no standards at the same time.”

“ _You_ can’t talk,” Louis returns automatically, but the quiver in his voice belies the casual, light teasing of his answer.

Zayn grows serious, staring at him with a small frown, and Louis drops his eyes to his plate, mashing carrots with his fork nervously.

“Here.” Walking up to him on stilted legs, his daemon following at a slow waddle, Zayn thrusts a soft knit, oversized grey jumper at him. He had been carrying it bundled up under his elbow and it’s warm from his body, even though it still has the tag on.

Louis scrambles to take it on reflex, but only holds it in his hands, dumbstruck.  

“I thought you might be cold,” Zayn mumbles, raising a hand to rub the shaved back of his head. “Everyone I’ve seen around seems fine. But I know you run cold, even by human standards.”

Louis nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thank you.” Pushing the table aside, he tries to slip the sweater on, but it hurts to lift his arms, and the IV makes it impossible until Zayn helps him. “Thank you,” he repeats, a little breathless by the time they manage to sort it out, looking up at Zayn with a small smile as he hastens to flatten his hair and fix his fringe.

Zayn doesn’t answer, biting his lip hard for a few seconds before his face crumples. “ _Fuck_. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _Louis_ ,” he moans, eyes filling with tears.

Louis opens his arms at once.

Despite the outburst of emotion, Zayn hugs him with the utmost care, even as he buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck for a long minute, taking wet, shuddering breaths. “Shit, let me see, babe, let me—” he says at last, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and sitting back to inspect Louis: touching the tips of his fingers to the bruise on Louis’ cheekbone, hovering over the graze on his chin, trailing down his arms to hold his hands, frowning as he thumbs over the scabbing cut on his palm.

“Zayn, I’m fine. I didn’t even lose my spleen.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s not where the standard is, bro.”

Head down, Louis raises one shoulder in a shrug. “It could have been a lot worse,” he says in a small voice.

Zayn’s grip on Louis’ hands tightens compulsively, before he lets go, reaching for his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “I need to… text Niall before he flies over from Australia—”

“Isn’t he in Singapore?”

“Whatever. I was in LA and still flew over—”

“You flew here?” Louis asks, stunned.

“Not, like, _flew_ flew, I came on a plane. How else was I supposed to get here? It’s a three days’ drive at least.” Zayn wipes one of his palms on his knee. “I got this call that you’d been in an accident and were in surgery…” he mumbles, picking at the threads of one of the rips on his jeans.

“I forgot I had you as my emergency contact, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Fuck," Zayn says, shaking his head jerkily. "I—Sometimes it felt like I’d already lost you, when you were with him, but when I thought you might actually be gone…”

“It got you on a plane."

Zayn lets out a weak, wet laugh. “Yeah. I was so worried about you, I didn’t have much time to be scared,” he says with a shaky smile.

Louis extends his hand to Zayn on the bed. “Thank you for coming.”

“I missed you,” Zayn whispers, taking his hand carefully. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. I was going to call you—”

“Why didn’t you? Niall said you broke up with him, like, a year ago.”

“It’d been two years… I wasn’t sure if you’d still care,“ Louis explains, eyes burning. “And I… wasn’t sure I wanted to… You left me, Zayn.” He brushes a tear from his cheek roughly, then grimaces at the pain. “You left, and completely shut me out.”

“Because you left me first, Louis! All the times you stood me up, or blew me off, didn’t even text me back… It’s like you weren’t even there anymore.” Zayn deflates within seconds, looking at Louis with glistening eyes. “I couldn’t take it anymore, just sitting and watching what he was doing to you. And I couldn’t understand why you didn’t… _do_ something—It’s still hard for me to understand,” he admits. “But I am sorry I left you. It’s probably the worst thing I could’ve done, isn’t it?” He rubs his thumb over Louis’ knuckles, swallowing thickly before he continues: “And once I’d left, I couldn’t go back. I was afraid of what I’d find. Or that you’d turn _me_ away this time.”

Louis gives his hand a squeeze, sniffling. “You’re here now.”

“Well I thought you were dying,” Zayn teases with a laugh that’s half a sob, making Louis swipe at him, even as he breathes out a faint laugh of his own.

“But, honestly, it doesn’t hurt as much as you’d expect,” he says after a moment.

“That might be the pain killers.”

“Mm. At least they’re working.”

Zayn glances at Alithis, tucked up next to Louis, before meeting his eyes, expression sombre. “No change?”

Louis shakes his head, and Zayn leans in to give him another careful hug.

“I saw Simon,” Louis tells him when they break apart, words rushing out.

“How was that?” Zayn asks slowly.

Louis takes a deep breath through his nose, though it makes his chest hurt. “Shit.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You going anywhere?”

“No.”

“I’m not either.” Zayn reaches for the jello cup and presses it into Louis’ hands, along with the spoon. “Talk to me?”

And Louis does. Zayn _knows_ —he doesn’t have to explain anything to him, or hold anything back. He can just talk and Zayn will listen.

 

Once Zayn has left to get some sleep, and the nurses have done their final round, Louis checks his phone for the first time since the party. Lying on his side, still wearing the sweater Zayn had brought him, he unlocks the phone, squinting as the screen lights up, too bright in the dark room.

He has a few texts from the night before from Lottie.

_where are you?_

_we’re leaving…_

_Louis!!!???_

Then around ten: _mom’s so pissed at you, just FYI._

And the following morning: _you left?? am I supposed to do all the work myself? what do I even have a brother for? t_ _hanks for that_

Louis hesitates before playing the voice message from his mother from that same afternoon:

‘When are you going to start picking up your phone, Louis? I expected better from you. Simon told me you talked to him before you left, at least, but there was no reason for you to leave like you did. Sneaking out of the party! And then taking off without a word to your mother and sister… We had to find out from the neighbour—the one who was all over you last night, don’t think I didn’t notice… He seemed concerned about you, as well—What have you been telling him? You’ve always been so quick to cry to people, without thinking about how it makes you and everyone around you look… Call me some time… before Thanksgiving, preferably. Hopefully with an apology. All I can say is it’s a good thing I came along to help your sister after all.’

The regular beeping of a machine in the room next door seems louder in the silence that follows the end of the message. The screen of the phone goes dark after a few seconds.

“Are you going to tell her?” Alithis asks.

Louis pulls the bed sheets up, tucking his hands under his chin with his fingers twisted around the fabric. “I don’t think I will. She’ll still be mad I left the party, and it’ll just make her feel bad that she was sending me an angry message when I was in hospital,” he says quietly. “I’ll send Lottie some money to make up for leaving, though.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. And she wasn’t wrong, I’m sure her life would have been easier if she’d been an only child,” he adds, his voice hollow.

Alithis makes a distressed sound low in her throat. “She shouldn’t have said that.”

Louis gives a minute shrug. “But she’s not wrong to think it.”

“That’s not fair to you. You don’t have anything to make up for, Louis.”

“She’s my little sister, Ali." Louis draws the sheet over his head, snivelling. " I love her, and I just want her to love me.”

Alithis watches him in silence for a long moment, then catches the bed sheet between her teeth and gives it a tug. “Get out from under there and come cuddle me instead.”

Exhausted, Louis falls asleep curled around his daemon.

—

Alithis does a little caper as she walks into the bedroom, and springs onto the bed, which Louis had left unmade and strewn with clothes. “It’s good to be back,” she says fervently. “ _Safe._ ”

“Yeah.” Louis joins her on the bed, sitting down more carefully, holding the plastic bag from the hospital to his side, an arm wrapped around it.

“Louis, are you still scared?” she asks in a hushed voice.

Louis considers the question, wearing a hole into the bag with his nervous pulling and rubbing at the thin plastic. “I don’t know. I know no one is going to come here. But… they don’t have to?” His voice goes high, threatening to break. Throat momentarily too tight to speak, he hides his face in the crook of his elbow, taking a few shuddering breaths before lowering his arm. “Sorry, ignore me. I’m tired. And I’m just—They were giving me something stronger at the hospital, and I have to… get used to it again, the pain at 60% instead of 40.”

Alithis regards him with doleful eyes for a long moment, then moves to nuzzle his neck without a word.

“It could be worse…” Louis murmurs, raising a hand to hold her close.

“You shouldn’t have any pain at all,” she replies miserably.

Louis leans back just enough to be able to touch foreheads with his daemon. “It is what it is,” he whispers. “And it’s not _all_ bad.”

Alithis nods solemnly, and noses into his palm for an second before lying down. “Are you going to play and sing with Zayn like you used to?” she asks, watching Louis pull the plastic bag onto his lap and reach inside. Both his sweater and Michael’s hoodie had been cut open by the EMTs.

Scratching at a speck of dried blood on the hoodie, he doesn’t answer.

They both look up at the knock on the open door. “I’m making soup, what do you want, vegetable or cream of chicken?” Zayn asks.

“Making soup?”

Zayn gives his a deadpan look. “Heating up soup. Don’t be cute. What do you want?”

“Vegetable’s good, thank you.” Louis answers with a quiet giggle.

Zayn nods, but his eyes are on the hoodie Louis is holding. “Who do you know that went to Cornell University?” he asks curiously.

Louis busies himself rubbing at another bit of blood. “Michael.”

“Ah.” Zayn’s daemon comes up behind him, and he reaches down to run a finger up the soft underside of her bill. “You didn’t tell me he’d given you his hoodie,” he teases. When Louis shrugs, but doesn’t look up again, he walks over to sit next to him. “Most guys aren’t like John, you know that, right?”

Louis nods, head still down.

“And it was _him_ , not you.” Zayn clears his throat, and starts bouncing his knee. “I know I said I don’t understand why you didn’t break up with him, but I know it doesn’t work like that. And I know that… the people who’ve hurt you—it’s on them, Louis, not on you.” He reaches for Louis’ hand, stilling the nervous scratching on the stained fabric. “You have to know that too, babe.”

Although Louis shrugs again, he forces himself to meet his eyes. “It’s hard to remember that sometimes… hard to believe it.”

Zayn pulls him toward him, and Louis allows himself to sink into the hug, into the familiar warmth and scent of vanilla and cigarettes.

“I’m sorry I did such a shit job of reminding you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“It’s not your job.” Louis gives a small shake of his head, and continues before Zayn can argue. “And I’ll have the cream, actually, please.”

Zayn tightens his arms around him for an instant before letting him go. “I’ll make us grilled cheese sandwiches too. Or you gotta have some crackers, at least.”

 

“So what are you going to do about Michael?” Zayn asks later that evening, sitting at the piano while Louis lies on the couch, cocooned by pillows and a summer duvet.

“What can I do? I don’t even have his number.” Louis doesn’t look up from his guitar, strumming a slow tune.

“Can’t you find out?”

“Who would I even ask, Zayn?”

“I don’t know. Your friend Oli?” Zayn asks distractedly, playing harmonic scales with one hand.

Instinctively, Louis changes to playing a melody that fits with Zayn’s idle exercise. “I don’t think he knows him. It’s not the biggest town, but Michael doesn’t even live there.”

“We can find you someone else, then. It’s not like getting you a date will be hard.”

Louis lets out a breath of laughter. “Thank you. Any plan to get me past the first date?”

Zayn cuts short the scale, turning around in his seat to give him a look. “Have you tried dating since John?”

Louis’ playing falters, sweeping his thumb over a string in a nervous, repetitive motion. “No.”

“Then you don’t know what it’d be like, do you?” he says, deadpan.

Clutching the guitar closer, he grimaces when it digs into his stomach despite the duvet. “But I’m—”

“Anyone would be lucky to go out with you, when are you going to get it in your head?” Zayn cuts in impatiently.

Recoiling, Louis draws his knees up as he shrinks back into the corner of the couch. “I’m not sure about the tough love approach, Zayn,” he says, striving to keep his tone light, though his voice wobbles.

Zayn relocates to the end of the couch, reaching under the duvet to hold Louis’ ankle in a loose grip. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this.”

Louis stares at him, expression carefully blank. “Are you leaving?” he asks in spite of himself, though it comes out almost inaudible.

“No, no.” Zayn scoots closer, circling an arm around Louis’ calves. “I’m not leaving you again. Even once I go back home, I want to be there for you, babe. I just… don’t know _how_ sometimes.“ He rests his forehead on one of Louis’ knees with a sigh. “I want to help, but I end up doing or saying the wrong thing. But I’ll find out. I’ll try and be better for you.”

Louis’ face crumples. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do that.” He threads trembling fingers through Zayn’s hair. “I’m sorry I’m so much work,” he whimpers.

“You see?” Zayn says with a strained laugh, raising his head. “That wasn’t supposed to be the takeaway for you here.”

“Sorry.” Sniffling, Louis sets the guitar on the floor, wincing at the movement, so he can cuddle up to Zayn, who wraps an arm around him.

It’s a minute before Zayn speaks, his voice low and earnest: “I don’t think the words can mean much to you anymore, so I’m not going to say it. But I’ll do my best to show you, yeah?”

Throat too tight for speech, Louis can only reach up to clasp Zayn’s hand over his chest. 

—

“Are you sure it’s not too soon?” Alithis asks when they get off the bus round the corner from the centre. “You only got the stitches taken out on Friday.”

Louis rests a hand on his stomach, but shakes his head. “I feel useless at home, doing nothing. And it’s not like I’m loading moving vans here. I just have to be careful with Perrie; her hugs are… intense.”

Perrie does squeeze him too tight, dashing out from behind the front desk to embrace him, before she remembers, and releases him with a gasp, clapping her hands over her mouth.

“Sorry, sweetie. It’s just so good to see you.” Hand on his shoulder, she inspects him with a look of concentration on her face, while her morpho butterfly daemon flutters above her, wings flashing alternately bright, electric blue and brown. “You’re a little pale—and you’ve lost weight, haven’t you? But you look good: in one piece and on the mend,” she pronounces with a smile. A second later, however, her eyes narrow in a glare and she lets go of his shoulder to give him a light punch to the arm instead. “I was worried, you know? You call in to say you’re on medical leave because you were in an accident, and then fall off the face of the earth for two weeks!? Have you even checked your messages?”

Louis draws his hands up to his chest, interlacing his fingers. “Not since I went on vacation,” he admits. “Sorry, I’ve been…”

“Avoiding someone… or busy with someone?” Perrie fills in when he trails away, in a playfully suggestive tone.

Something in his face makes her eyes widen theatrically. “I know that look: there _is_ someone, isn’t there?”

“I’m only taking a break from social media, Pez,” he says haltingly, ignoring Alithis stepping on his foot. He manages a faint smile at Perrie’s antics. “It seemed like a good moment.”

Perrie’s daemon settles on her hair: a giant, iridescent accessory. “You said the accident wasn’t serious… you’re not going through an existential crisis, are you?” she asks, a hint of seriousness beneath the teasing tone.

Louis forces out a small laugh. “I’m fine. I’m just… waiting for things to go back to normal, I guess.” His voice drops to a mumble, preoccupied, before he summons up another smile. “And the first step is work—I’ve got Tommy, Ming, and Beatrice today, right?”

 

On autopilot, Louis is quick to reach for his phone when it starts vibrating on the rug next to him, so that the child sitting between his legs doesn’t even notice. He remains focused on encouraging the toddler to try out the xylophone before her, even as he holds a hand to his side for a second, wincing in discomfort.

His focus is thrown, however, when Beatrice’s daemon shifts all of a sudden from a tottering lion cub chasing Alithis playfully around the room to a hedgehog. Although her daemon curls up into a defensive ball, Beatrice immediately twists in Louis’ arms to see what had caused him to shift forms. Louis turns his head around as well, while the toddler gets to her feet, one hand curled into a fist around the collar of his sweater for balance.

Michael waves, the smile on his face sheepish, looking in from the hall through the glass windows, which are set at chest height along the wall of the classroom. When his horse daemon lowers her head to peer in too, pressing her forehead against the glass, Beatrice breathes out a delighted ‘Horsey!’ and starts tugging at Louis’ sweater.

Louis blinks, dumbfounded, but the corners of his mouth turn up into a confused smile without conscious thought when Michael holds up a plastic container full of what look like cookies.

“What is he doing here?” he asks Alithis in a loud whisper, eyes round.

One eye still on the toddler’s daemon, which had uncurled and was sniffing about cautiously, Alithis lets out a quiet giggle. “What do you think?”

“I don’t understand…” Louis mutters, but then draws the toddler’s attention back to him. “Want a cookie, love?” he asks her, fixing one of the small bows in her hair before neatening his own fringe.

There is no avoiding the pain when he stands up after an hour on the floor, but he doesn’t hesitate to pick Beatrice up when she holds out her arms to him, despite Alithis voicing her concerns that he isn’t supposed to lift weight.

“It’s only a moment,” Louis responds, adjusting the toddler on his hip before walking out into the hall. Alithis makes a dissatisfied noise, but joins him out without further argument, with Beatrice’s daemon following, peeking between her legs in the form of a painted wolf puppy.

Michael holds Louis’ eyes for a few seconds when he walks out before turning to Beatrice, who keeps a smile on her face while he makes a game of picking out a cookie, pretending to take measurements and make calculations to select just the right cookie for her.

“I think this might be the one. What do you think?” he says at last, offering her a large one in the shape of a slightly misshapen flower.

Although Louis knows Beatrice is cleared to have sweets and chocolate, he still grimaces when she stuffs half the cookie in her mouth. “Easy, little bee,” he says, nodding in approval when she starts chewing with intent. “And what do we say, hm?” he prompts gently once she’s swallowed.

Pressing sticky fingers to Louis’ cheek when he stops her hand from creeping to her mouth, she mumbles her thanks to Michael, but returns his smile.

“Is it any good?” Louis asks, shooting Michael a teasing glance, when she takes another bite.

Beatrice nods emphatically, munching conscientiously.

“Thank goodness.” Michael chuckles. “I’m not actually much of a baker.”

“Not a bad cook, though,” Louis says, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear as he looks up at him with a smile.

Michael tracks the movement, his gaze lingering on Louis’ face with undisguised wonder. “I’ll take that glowing compliment,” he replies finally, lips quirked in amusement.

When Louis comes back from handing Beatrice over to her parents, he falters upon seeing Michael’s daemon alone in the corridor and Michael inside the classroom, tidying up, gathering up rattles and chiming blocks from the floor.

Alithis pushes her head against the back of his knee, where she knows he can’t ignore it. “Go on then. Go talk to him.”

Biting his lip, Louis sidles around Raisa to reach the door to the classroom, where he stands for a moment in silence, hands drawn up to his chest, twisting his fingers nervously.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says at last, words coming out in a rush.

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Michael tosses the last jingling plushie into the basket with the rest, then straightens to look at Louis with a smile.

Keeping to the wall, Louis inches into the room. “Sorry, it gets a bit messy toward the end of the day. Normally I’m more on top of it, but I’m a little…” His voice trails off when he catches sight of the patient, attentive expression on Michael’s face. “I’m rambling, sorry.”

Michael’s eyebrows twitch in surprise. “Louis, I showed up at your work place unannounced, I think I should be the one apologising,” he says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Leaning against the piano behind him, Louis shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologise. But I _am_ … confused.”

Michael nods, wrinkling his nose in embarrassment. “Yeah. Um. I know I’m… toeing the line between romantic and stalker here. But I couldn’t get your number, and I remembered you said you worked at this place, and the address was on the website,” he explains. “I would have come before, if I hadn’t got called out to supervise a field job in Toronto. I hope it’s not too late.”

At a loss for words, Louis stares at him for a few seconds, before he settles on: “I was actually on leave until today.”

“On leave? Are you OK?” Michael looks him over in concern.

“I’m fine. Although—” A small gasp escapes Louis as the thought hits him. "Your hoodie isn’t. It got ruined, I’m sorry.”

Michael gives a quiet laugh. “I didn’t come for the hoodie, sweetheart.”

“Why are you here?” Louis asks, forcing himself to meet Michael’s eyes, which remain fixed on him, warm and earnest.

“I was hoping you’d let me take you out.”

Louis blinks a few times in response, not expecting the straightforward answer.

“Will you?”

“Will I…”

“Will you go on a date with me?” Michael clarifies without a trace of impatience.

For a long moment, Louis stares, taking in the full lips curved in a faint, tentative smile, and the gentle, dark eyes. “I—” Holding his elbows, he takes a deep breath. “You said you had questions.”

Michael’s expression turns serious. “I do,” he acknowledges. “But I don’t need answers right now. Nothing you say is going to make me want this—” He motions between them. “—less.”

Louis ducks his head, hands sliding down his arms to fidget with the sleeves of his sweater instead. “You don’t know that. I’m a mess,” he says with a humourless breath of laughter.

“Louis, I can see you’re hurting, that you’ve been hurt.” Michael takes a cautious step toward him, then another. “I know it must be hard for you, but maybe you can give me a chance?”

“I just don’t understand,” Louis replies helplessly. “You could have anyone, Michael, and not have it be so… difficult. Why would you—”

“I’m not looking for easy. You don’t have to worry about me, OK?” Michael cuts in firmly. Slowly so as to give Louis time to reject the touch, he raises a hand to palm the side of his neck, the other hand resting lightly on his waist. “I really like you. Do you think you might like me too?”

Up close, the scent of Michael’s aftershave makes Louis remember and want to chase after the warmth and comfort of his arms. He hums in assent, raising his eyes to him only when Michael thumbs at his cheek. “All this trouble for a date…” he says with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Well worth it,” Michael says, flashing him a grin. “Though I _am_ holding out hope it won’t be just the one date.”

Louis hums again, noncommittal, but offers Michael a small smile, and reaches to hold onto his forearm, keeping his hand in place on his waist for a moment.

“How about a cookie?” Michael asks, stepping back once Louis lets go.

“You really went all out, didn’t you?” Louis says with some bemusement. Then, after a beat: “Overachiever.”

Louis recognises Michael’s laugh that combines surprise and delight at Louis’ deadpan teasing.

“Wait until you try them.” Michael fetches the container, popping the lid open. “I’m not sure toddlers have the most discerning taste, to be honest.”

It makes Louis giggle, and in the instant of giddiness, bring himself to ask, coy: “Aren’t you going to choose the right one just for me too?”

With a lopsided grin, Michael inspects the batch of cookies for a minute before pulling out a cookie: perfectly golden and round, but tiny, like it had been made out of leftover dough.

“I feel like there’s an insult in there,” Louis says as he takes the cookie from Michael, letting their fingers brush. Although he tries to keep an unimpressed face, he can feel the tug of muscles, and wrinkling his nose fails to stop a smile.

Michael gives a shake of his head. “It’s perfect bite-sized sweetness.” he says serenely. It’s impossible to miss the ‘just like you’ implicit in his comment.

Blushing, Louis has to fight back a smile as he eats the cookie.

“Good?”

“Mmm.” Louis holds his hands out for the container, which Michael hands over, chuckling. “Granted I probably don’t have the most discerning taste either.”

Michael laughs. “As long as _you_ like them. I made them for you.”

Holding the container to his chest, Louis smiles at Michael from under his eyelashes. “Thank you, And I was joking, they’re really good,” he says earnestly.

Michael’s answering smile is soft.

“I’m going to share them, though, if that’s OK?” Louis continues. “If Perrie saw you come in, she’ll track me down if I don’t, anyway.”

“Ah. Actually, now that you mention it… I may have promised her some cookies so she’d let me in to see you.” Michael says, rubbing the back of his neck as he pulls a face, sending Louis into a fit of giggles.

 

“What are you still doing here?” Perrie’s knock on the door frame is belated, and she walks into the classroom without waiting for an answer or an invitation. “Everyone’s left. I’m closing shop, come on.”

Louis falters, but continues playing. “The piano here is better than the one I have at home.”

Perrie comes to stand next to him, with a fresh coat of lipstick, and handbag hanging from her wrist. “Don’t you have a date? I thought you’d be out with that hottie from this morning—what’s his name again?” Louis answers in a reluctant mumble, but Perrie waves a dismissive hand, moving on. “You took the cookies, so I’m assuming you didn’t turn him down.”

Louis releases a breath of laughter as he finishes the piece. “No, we’re going out tomorrow,” he admits bashfully.

Perrie hoots. “Get it.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis stands up from the piano to gather his things: phone, notes, and denim jacket.

“When’s the last time you got laid?” she continues, heading over to hit the light switch once he’s set to go.

“ _Perrie_.”

Perrie grins unapologetically at Louis as he holds the door open, waiting for her to walk out before closing and locking it. “Sorry, it’s been a while for me. And, like, you can never be sure, but that Michael looks like he’s _got_ the stuff and he _knows_ his stuff, if you get me.”

Louis can’t help but laugh. “I get you. I… won’t be reporting back, sorry.”

“But, Louis, sharing is caring.” Perrie pretends to pout, but dissolves into laughter instead.

Louis stops in the middle of the corridor to give her a deadpan look.

“That’s not what I meant, but, if you’re into that…” Perrie says with a cackle.

He wrinkles his nose. “No. Nothing wrong with it. But one man at a time for me. And that man just… my man.”

Perrie bursts into laughter. “Fair enough.”

 

On the bus, Louis turns to look forward after waving at Perrie. He lets his breath out in a long exhalation, toying with the buttons of his jacket, then bites his lip as a grin threatens to spread across his face. “I have a date tomorrow,” he says in a hushed voice.  

Alithis makes a content sound in agreement.

“I’m excited.” He looks at his daemon, a little lost. “I’m nervous too. Really nervous. But—” he stammers. “I’d forgotten it’s… supposed to be fun, isn’t it?”

“I’d say so,” Alithis says mildly, making Louis breathe out a quiet laugh.

“I have to pick out my outfit.” He doesn’t stop smiling even as he presses a hand to his chest, rubbing absently at the soreness. “Should I shave, what do you think?”

—

”So it’s going good?” Zayn asks around a mouthful of hamburger.

“Yeah. It’s… easy with him, if that makes sense.”

Zayn hums, adjusting the cushion behind his back on the couch. “But?”

Louis dips a chicken nugget in the sauce, avoiding looking at Zayn on the screen of his laptop. “But it was good with John at first too,” he mumbles.

“Was it? You hadn’t been dating two months he was already throwing temper tantrums,” Zayn counters, dabbing impatiently at a bit of ketchup that had dripped onto his top. “Remember when we went out to Rizzo’s after exams?”

Abandoning the nugget, Louis reaches for some fries instead, though they don’t make it to his mouth. “He didn’t like that I was flirting with the waiter…”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Of course it was _your_ fault he was a dick.”

“I got better at not making him angry when we were out,” Louis blurts out in an urgent, defensive tone, not catching the sarcasm.

“As opposed to when you weren’t in public?” Zayn says with a snort, upper lip curled in disgust.

Louis bows his head, eyes fixed on the bedspread rather than looking at the screen. “I tried so hard to keep him happy… It was just never enough,” he says, voice hollow. “I’d always do something wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. That was his excuse so he could keep fucking with you. Fuck, Louis.”

“I’m sorry. I know… I know that. I do.”

After a moment, Zayn sighs, learning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Michael hasn’t done anything like that, has he?”

Louis shakes his head no.

“Good. No excuses this time, first strike he’s out.” That pulls a small smile out of Louis, who sits up, wrapping an arm around Alithis as she moves to tuck herself at his side. “Wish I could give you a cuddle. Is he giving you cuddles?” Zayn asks, relaxing back in his seat and taking another bite of his hamburger.  

“Yeah,” Louis answers with a laugh. 

“You don’t have to chase him down?”

“No.” Louis presses his lips together trying to hold back a shy smile. “He gives really good hugs.”

“Good. How’s the sex?”

Louis blinks. “None of your business.”

“That bad?” Zayn quips, making Louis laugh.

“Shut up. We… haven’t even kissed yet, actually.”

Zayn doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Your idea or his?”

“Mine.” Louis reaches for the sauce to finish his chicken nuggets. “I don’t want to rush things.”

Zayn nods, sucking on his straw. “You do _like_ like him, though, right?” he asks after a second.

“I sent you a picture. What do you think?”

“I’d fuck him,” Zayn replies with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean _you_ want to, does it?”

Louis releases his breath in a laugh. “Right. I want to. It’s just…” He takes a moment to fold up the empty nuggets box. “…been a while.”

“It’s like riding a bike, bro,” Zayn says, waving a dismissive hand. “And you don’t even like _driving_ the bike, do you? All you have to do is… go along for the ride.”

Groaning, Louis covers his face with hands. “No sex metaphors, please,” he mutters, peering between his fingers. “But thank you for the pep talk.”

 

His bedroom still smells like french fries when he gets into bed, burrowing under the covers with Alithis pressed against at his back, snuffling as she settles down to sleep.

Fighting to keep his eyes open, Louis checks his phone, smiling drowsily at a good night text from Michael, and one from Zayn from minutes before, with a selfie with the Happy Meal toy attached. Fumbling to thumb out a quick response, he accidentally returns to the chats page, scrolling down to older conversations. He hasn’t spoken to his mom at all in almost three weeks, and his sister hadn’t replied to his text from over a week before.

With a sigh, he gropes in the dark for the bedside table, almost knocking over the bottle of painkillers as he finds a place for his phone among the books.

—

Louis pads into the kitchen in the gloom, the apartment in darkness except for the flickering light from the television. It takes a minute to sort out space in the fridge for the leftovers from their Chinese, and he needs a few seconds for his vision to readjust when he closes the door, shutting out the bright light.

Filling a glass with water at the sink, he takes a moment to consider the scene in the living room washed in inconstant, multicoloured light: the swish of Raisa’s tail as she stands opposite the bigger couch, where Michael is stretched out with one arm behind his head and his bare feet propped up on the other armrest. Both have been over so often in the last weeks that the room no longer seems dwarfed by the large horse daemon, and Louis no longer has a knot in his stomach being alone with a man in his space.

The back of the couch blocks Alithis from his sight until he walks back to the living room, his eyes lingering where Michael’s tee shirt has ridden up over his toned stomach. There is enough space for him on the smaller couch with his daemon, but on his return, Michael sits up a little, spreading his legs in invitation for Louis to fit himself between them.

“Fancy a cuddle?”

This part still feels new, but Louis smiles as he sets down the glass among the empty containers on the coffee table and lies down between Michael’s legs, leaning back on his chest. It doesn’t take him long to relax, with Michael resting one arm on the back of the couch and the other around Louis, hand slipping under the zip up sweatshirt to rest on his bare chest.

It seems an absent gesture the first time Michael nuzzles his hair, but then he does it again after a few minutes. Louis is distracted through the film as Michael presses his lips to the side of his head, while his hand moves from his chest to his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, the sensitive skin of his neck, exploring with light touches.

“Is this OK?” he asks, brushing his lips against his ear.  

Louis hums in agreement.

After a few minutes, Michael straightens up further, and guides Louis to a position that allows him more access with his mouth. He noses at his nape, skimming his lips down the side of his neck, and back up to the angle of his jaw, making Louis contain a shiver. Michael takes his time kissing his neck, starting out soft and light, then lingering, until he makes Louis gasp as he sucks a mark near his Adam’s apple.

“Is _this_ OK?” he asks again, kissing Louis’ cheek.

Louis turns his head so that their lips touch. “Yes.” He chases after Michael’s mouth, shifting until he can kiss him, hesitant at first, but not backing down. A small sound escapes him as they move together, Michael coming to hold half his face in one hand, the other at his neck, taking control of the kiss.

“You taste sweet,” Michael murmurs against his lips when they break apart.

The hand Louis has spread on Michael’s chest slides up to his shoulder, appreciating the defined muscles. “And you taste spicy,” he replies with a bashful giggle, which transforms into a quiet moan when Michael takes his mouth again.

They kiss until Louis is breathless, gripping at the broad expanse of Michael’s back when he tips them over so that Louis is under him, flat on the couch.

“So gorgeous,” Michael says, eyes roving over Louis’ face. “Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

It’s only when Louis rolls his hips up instinctively that he realises he’s actually hard. And so is Michael, erection hot against Louis’ thigh.

Stiffening, Louis drops his hands to the couch, using them to scoot up underneath Michael. “Shit, I need a moment, sorry. Sorry.”

Michael quickly moves to sit at the other end of the couch. Rubbing his palms over his thighs, he releases his breath in an loud exhalation, but gives Louis an easy smile. “OK?”

Louis nods, but something in his face must give him away because Michael’s smile falters. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Was that too much?”

“Wasn’t it… too little for you?” he asks, voice quavering.

Michael stares at him for a moment, seeming at a loss. “Louis, I want only as much as _you_ want,” he says finally, extending a hand to Louis. “Never more than what you want to give, OK?”

Louis takes his hand, squeezing it tightly, and uses it to pull himself closer to Michael. Touching his free hand to his face, he kisses him, thumbing at his earlobe absently.

As they rest their foreheads against each other, Michael raises a hand to cover Louis’ on the side of his face. “I want to punch your ex,” he says in a low voice. “I’m sorry, I know we don’t talk about this—” Michael lets go of his hands when Louis jerks back reflexively. “—but it fucking kills me knowing how he treated you.”

“I was already fucked up before him, if it’s any consolation,” Louis says, the wobble in his voice rendering the attempt at humour a failure.

“No, sweetheart, that makes it worse.” Michael keeps a hand on his ankle when Louis shrinks back against the couch. “And you’re not fucked up, you’ve been hurt.”

Louis shakes his head, chin to his chest.

“Yes. I don’t know—I know something happened with Simon, and… your family? But—” Michael drums the fingers of his other hand on his knee, lips twisted for a moment as he tries to find the words. He opens his mouth twice without saying anything before he speaks at last, a simple plea: “Talk to me? Please.”

The light dims as the credits start rolling on the television screen, although the music seems louder now in the prolonged silence, and with no distractions.

Louis stares at the television unseeing for a minute, stomach roiling. “You know, even now, nothing hurts more than all the times she promised we were going to leave, and then didn’t. She would wipe my tears, and help me cover up the bruises, and make the same promises every time…” he says at last in a monotone. “I thought maybe after Lottie was born—But dad never touched her, so I suppose there wasn’t a good enough reason.”

Michael squeezes his eyes shut for a second, face drawn as though in pain. “How old were you when he started—”

“I… I don’t know," Louis replies, forehead creased in confusion. "I don’t remember—It was always like that.”

“Breathe, sweetheart.” Michael runs a hand up and down Louis’ calf and ankle in a comforting gesture. “It was a dumb question.”

“It wasn’t. I just—” Louis shakes his head, giving up. “It got worse as I got older, though, and I didn’t grow out of things I was supposed to, according to him.”

“And your mother didn’t… defend you?”

“She did sometimes—They would argue about it—”

“Was he abusive toward your mother too?” Michael interjects.

“They argued sometimes, but the main reason they argued was me, to be honest—when she made excuses for me when I was younger.” Twisting the material of his sweatshirt in his fingers, Louis casts his eyes down. “She never tried to stop him, though. I think she hoped he would succeed in… beating it out of me, I guess. Why else would she let him do it?”

Motionless, almost holding his breath, Michael asks quietly: “Beat what out of you?”

Louis gives a minute shrug. “How I moved, how I talked, how I looked… It was all wrong.”

“To _them_.” Michael’s fingers tighten around his ankle again. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Louis.”

A corner of Louis’ mouth lifts in a fleeting, wistful smile, and he whispers a thank you, which Michael dismisses.

“Did anyone know?” he asks after a moment.

“Someone always knows, they just pretend not to,” Louis says in a clipped tone.

“Did _you_ ever tell anyone?”

Louis nods, drawing his arms tighter around himself. “I told Simon when I was fifteen. He was my Social Studies teacher then. He'd let me stay after class so that I didn’t have to go home—told everyone I needed help with the lessons, but we just watched movies and ate snacks.”

Michael swallows audibly. “Did he—”

“He never touched me. Not like that. He was just… nice.” Louis ducks his head, chagrinned. “None of my teachers had ever shown much of an interest in me. And I—Sometimes it was exhausting being around other kids when things were so… different for them. Simon gave me an escape for that too. He brought down my grade so that no one would suspect.”

“Did he know, before you told him?” Michael asks tightly.

“I don’t know… Maybe,” he answers with some reluctance.

“But he didn’t try to stop it?”

“He said it wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause everyone. That I’d better just wait it out.” Louis uncrosses his arms to wring his hands instead, plucking at his sleeves. “I-it wasn’t what I’d hoped for when I told him, b-but it made sense,” he continues, stammering, a hint of desperation in his voice. “It was just a couple more years before I’d be leaving to college, and I’d made it so far. I could t-take it. And I _did_. I didn’t bring it up, or ask him for help again… for another year and a half.”

“What changed then?” Michael asks, stroking his ankle.

Falling silent, Louis glances at Raisa, before meeting Michael’s eyes. “How old were you when your daemon settled?”

“Twelve.”

“I hadn’t settled at sixteen,” he confesses.

“That’s unusual, but—”

“Unnatural.”

Michael shakes his head, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the arch of Louis’ foot soothingly. “It’s uncommon, but it’s not… it’s not wrong.”

“My dad thought it was. He was frantic about it. I don’t even know what he thought he could do, but… I was scared. So I told Simon.” The nervous agitation come to an abrupt stop, Louis is all flat affect. “He didn’t help. He didn’t help… me. He recommended a doctor to my parents, a private practitioner with an… experimental treatment to… speed up the process.” His eyes are empty as he stares at a point over Michael’s shoulder. “Simon would drive me to the appointments, and my mom would pick me up. Two, three days a week.”

“And then she’d take you for ice cream,” Michael breathes in sudden realisation; their conversation in the kitchen in Donny finally making sense.

Louis’ breathing grows ragged. “He did things to Alithis. It _hurt_.” As his voice breaks Alithis whimpers and hastens to his side. “It hurt so much. And it didn’t stop hurting. I couldn’t sleep. I was having so much trouble at school…”

“How long did it go on?” Michael whispers.

“Almost five months, until Alithis settled.”

“Five months,” Michael repeats, eyes widening in horror. “Did you ever think of—?”

“Sometimes. But all I had were over the counter painkillers and it’s hard to overdose on those,” Louis replies automatically. “I’m…” He lets out a wry breath of laughter. “I’m bad with pain, so I wasn’t sure I could follow through on anything else.”

Michael’s hand on his ankle goes still, and his sharp inhalation is loud against the backdrop of quiet music from the television, on loop on the menu screen.  

Louis looks away from Michael, stroking Alithis’ head on his hip. “I went to the police, actually. Chief  Stringer was… not kind. He’s friends with Simon and Dr. Azoff.”

“Fuck.”  

Louis’ weak laughter has an edge of hysteria, but there’s no warning before he suddenly breaks into sobs, doubling over, and drawing his knees up to hide his face.

“No, no, come here, come here. Jesus, Louis.” Michael tugs Louis to him and into a tight hug. He holds him close, murmuring in a quiet, calming voice, until Louis composes himself. But Louis doesn’t look up from where he had buried his face against Michael’s chest until he feels an unexpected touch along his neck.

Sniffling, he bites back an overwhelmed sob when he sees that Raisa had made her way over to nuzzle him. He turns wide eyes to Michael, who strokes his cheek, his own eyes glistening.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he says softly. “And I’m… I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve any of that."

“I know.”

“But you don’t really believe it, do you?

Louis shrugs as he straightens up, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s hard. It feels like something I’m just telling myself.”

“I’m telling you. You didn’t deserve that, and none of it was your fault. I’ll tell you every day if I have to, I don’t care,” Michael says earnestly.

Louis ducks his head. “Michael, will you stay over tonight?” he asks in a whisper, curling his fingers around the collar of Michael’s tee shirt.

“I’d love to.” Michael strokes a gentle hand down his back. “Unless you snore, then I’ll have to pass,” he jokes, pulling a faint laugh from Louis.

“I don’t. Might kick you though,” Louis replies, brushing the back of his knuckles over Michael’s neck.

“Right. I think I’ll survive that.”

“I play soccer, I’ve got a strong kick,” Louis protests.

“I’m sure you do. Your foot’s about the size of my hand, though, so I’ll take my chances,” Michael says teasingly.

Sitting up, Louis gives him a light swat, shaking his head in pretend annoyance, before Michael cups his face and draws him into a kiss.

“OK?” he asks, thumbing at the residual wetness on Louis’ cheeks. “I really like kissing you, and want to do it as much as possible. Is that alright?”

“Please.” Louis grips the back of his neck, and brings their lips together again briefly, then raises a hand to fix his hair. “If you can bear it now, I must look a mess,” he says.

Michael takes his hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re beautiful.”

With a tiny sigh, Louis brings Michael’s hand to his face, resting his cheek on his open palm. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything.”

Michael only looks at him for a long moment, gaze gentle, shaking his head, at a loss for words.

—

In the morning, Louis wakes up alone. But even though the other side of the bed is cool, he can hear some kind of commotion in the kitchen.

“Do you regret telling him?” Alithis asks him, peering at him from the edge of the mattress.

On his stomach with his head turned to the side, Louis smooths a hand over the sheets absently. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe a little. But not really.”

“It’s better like this. You don’t have to be so… careful around him. You can talk to him now.”

Closing his eyes, Louis hums sleepily in response. “I suppose.” A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. “John didn’t like it when I did, though. He said I got melodramatic.”

“Yet he didn’t have a problem making jokes about it whenever he pleased…” Alithis mutters bitterly.

Reaching for a pillow, Louis hugs it to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. “He really made me feel like shit sometimes.”

His daemon makes a quiet, sympathetic sound, and climbs onto the bed next to him. They lie together in a light drowse until the sound of footsteps rouses them, and Alithis moves to make space for Michael to sit on the bed.

“How are you feeling? Hungry?” he asks, carefully setting the tray with breakfast in front of Louis once he has sat up propped against the headboard.

There are scrambled eggs and sausages, cinnamon toast sprinkled with raspberries, milk and juice. Louis looks up at Michael, open mouthed.

Michael grins, pleased at Louis’ reaction. “I might have made a bit of a mess in the kitchen in the process, but I’ll clean it up later, promise.”

Louis breathes out a faint laugh, returning his smile. “That’s fine. I’m not afraid of a bit of a mess.”

“Neither am I,” Michael replies easily.

Louis tangles their fingers together when Michael hands him a fork, and gives him a light tug, leaning forward for a quick kiss. “This looks amazing.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He spears a bit of sausage with his fork, shaking his head. “I was kicking myself earlier—I realised I’ve never asked how you prefer your eggs.”

“Unbelievable,” Louis replies, deadpan, before giggling into his hand.

“But not unforgivable, right?” Michael asks with a grin.

Louis scrunches up his face trying to hold back a smile as he rolls his eyes, which only makes Michael let out a delighted laugh.

When Michael goes to the kitchen for more scrambled eggs a short while later, Louis takes the chance to get his painkillers. In order to reach into the bedside table drawer he has to move the tray and make sure it won’t topple over. Tipping a couple of pills into his hand, he tosses the bottle back in the drawer just as Michael walks back into the bedroom. He stands frozen, plate of eggs in his hand.

Louis settles back in the bed, his hand shaking enough he puts down the glass of milk a second after picking it up. “I need them to help with the pain,” he says unsteadily.

Michael nods, and approaches the bed slowly. When Louis doesn’t object, he sits down, placing the plate on the tray and one hand on Louis’ knee over the duvet.

Breathing speeding up, Louis continues in a rush. “That’s not going to go away.” He tilts his chin up, jaw clenched. “I… I didn’t need fixing. But they… they did… break me a little. And the p-pieces aren’t ever going to f-fit like everyone else’s.” His voice wavers and breaks, so that his next words are in a whisper.  “And that has to be OK.”

“Sweetheart—”

Hand in a fist around the pills and pressed tight to his chest, Louis attempts to take a deep breath. “OK?”

“Of course it’s OK, Louis,” Michael replies, voice level, reaching for Louis’ free hand on the bedspread, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “I want your pieces however they come, OK?”

“Even scrambled?” Louis quips, still tremulous, but lips curving into a weak smile.

Michael breathes out a laugh, his expression infinitely tender. “Scrambled. Hard boiled, soft boiled. Poached. Fried sunny side up—” Cradling Louis’ face, he keeps getting closer as he enumerates, until Louis is giggling against his mouth. “—and over easy. Every which way,” he says emphatically, punctuating the words with kisses, Louis’ arms coming to loop around his neck.

Louis has a bright smile on his face before he even opens his eyes when they break apart.

Michael gives him another peck. “Now eat your eggs before they get cold.”

“OK,” Louis says absently, but doesn’t move, scratching lightly at the base of Michael’s head with his free hand, eyes still trained on his mouth.

The eggs are lukewarm by the time they get back to them.

—

Behind the tree in the far corner is the one place in the backyard that allows him to stay hidden from view from the house. He stands against the tree with one arm wrapped around his middle as he smokes, squinting as the wind blows the smoke into his eyes.

“You’ll get nicotine poisoning at this rate,” Alithis comments over the distant sound of children in a playground down the street.

Louis looks away from the black birds hopping about between the wooden fence and the piles of leaves, to raise his eyebrows at her. “I’ve had three.”

“It’s noon.”

Louis takes a deep breath, eyebrows knitting with discomfort. “Mm. It’s been a long day.”

His daemon's sigh is almost lost among the rustle of leaves as a gust of wind sweeps through the backyard. “Just… 28 hours to go.”

“Mom usually opens the wine around this time, at least,” Louis says wryly, before stubbing out the cigarette in the patch of dirt around the roots of the tree and heading back inside.

“Where did you go?” Jill asks the moment he steps into the kitchen, sliding the glass doors closed behind him. “I need your help with the potatoes, honey, please. We’re behind schedule.”

“I was just getting a bit of fresh air, mom.”

“Try to cut them thinner than you did the sweet potatoes, will you? They didn’t look so great, and we have guests coming over, remember?” she carries on without looking at him as she whips up cream for the pie, while her daemon keeps an eye on the mushrooms in the pan on the stove.

Louis sits down at the kitchen table and grabs a potato from the pile. “Aren’t they going to be mashed anyway?”

“No, no. I know you like mashed best, but we’re doing roast this year, sorry, pumpkin.”

Alithis rolls her eyes at Louis, making him crack a small smile as he starts peeling.

“And when you’re done with that—” Jill takes a moment to continue as she disconnects and disassembles the electric mixer. “I’m going to need you to pop by the store again for a few things, if you don’t mind.”

“Again?” Blade slipping on the potato, Louis looks up at his mother. “It’s the second time today.”

“I can’t leave the turkey or our guests, Louis,” she says curtly.”You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Louis gives a short nod, then casts his eyes down at the table as he resumes peeling.

Jill goes up to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You can get some more fresh air!” she says in a joking tone. When he doesn’t laugh, she gives him a light shake and drops a kiss on the top of his head. “Come on now, don’t be grumpy, my little helper.”

In spite of himself, the epithet makes Louis look back at his mother, who smiles when she catches his eye. “You might not remember, but you used to love helping me in the kitchen when you were little. Granted there wasn’t that much cooking involved…” she admits with a laugh. “But you even liked doing the washing up. It made no sense to me.”

“I liked being with you when he wasn’t around,” Louis murmurs, averting his eyes. “He almost never ate at home back then, so mealtimes were… peaceful.”

“That’s sweet, Louis.” Her smile is forced and doesn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, you were a child, and didn’t realise how embarrassing it was that your father didn’t come home for dinner half the time. It said something about me as his wife, you know—about our family.”

“Why would you even want to be with a man who doesn’t come home for dinner?” Louis can’t help but ask, turning wide, imploring eyes to his mother. “A man who—” He breaks off with a shake of his head, clenching his jaw and looking down to hide the rapid blinking as he fights back tears.

Jill’s arm slips from around his shoulder, and she steps away from him, one hand coming to grip the back of a chair. “I know he was a bit rough with you sometimes, Louis, but he could’ve been so much worse. It’s not fair to make him into a villain. He still fed you, and clothed you… paid for your music lessons, even, your soccer kit.” She raises a hand to her throat as she clears it,  “I… I didn’t know if I could be a single mother. And—And he was so good to your sister later. You’re only thinking of yourself…” she stammers, moving over to remove the pan from the stove.

Unable to speak for the lump in his throat, Louis digs his nails into the flesh of a piece of potato peel on the table.  

“Oh, why did you bring this up today?” Jill cries after a moment, dabbing at her eyes with a dish cloth she picks up from the counter. “It’s Thanksgiving, we’re spending time together, I don’t want to argue.”

Louis looks at her for a moment, jaw working as he pulls himself together. Finally, he nods and reaches for the potato he was peeling. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry, mom—” he says quietly, then makes an effort to lighten his tone: “No time for crying.”

His mother lets out a wet chuckle. “I won’t. Unless dinner isn’t done in time, then I probably will.”

Louis offers her a weak, tight lipped smile. “We’ll get it done, don’t worry.”

 

Hours later, Louis pushes a couple of pecans around his plate with his fork, as conversation goes on around him. Alithis, content to drowse now that the meal is over, rests her head on his knee so that he can scratch between her ears under the table. She makes a disgruntled noise when he stops without warning to reach into his pocket when his phone suddenly starts vibrating. Frowning in confusion, he accepts the call, getting up from the table with the phone at his ear. “Give me a second.”

“Rude,” Lottie calls out without looking up from her phone where she’s texting under the table.

Louis gives her a deadpan look before walking out of the dining room, then racing up the stairs to the guest bedroom.

“Sorry, Michael,” he pants into the phone, once he’s made sure to close the door behind him and Alithis. “I wasn’t expecting a call—we texted earlier—”

“I know, but I wanted to hear your voice…” Michael replies. “Make sure you’re alright.”

Louis sits down on the edge of the bed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, picking at his bottom lip.

“Sweetheart.”  

“It’s fine. I’m fine… A bit tired.” Wincing at the sting after peeling a bit of skin from his lips, Louis lowers his hand to his lap. “It could be worse.”

“‘Could be worse’ doesn’t mean it’s good, Louis.”

Fiddling with the bottom of his sweater, Louis hums. “It is what it is. And it’s… as good as it gets, I suppose,” he says haltingly.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’ve got time.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your day instead. Tell me more about your crazy cousins.”

“ _I’m_ going to be the crazy cousin by the end of the night…” he deadpans, then follows his comment up with a chuckle, and Louis smiles as he settles in to listen, resting against the pillows.

“You’re going back tomorrow morning, right?” Michael asks a short while later, in preparation to end the call.

“Late afternoon, in the end,” Louis corrects with a sigh. “I have to help with the shopping in the morning. There’s a long list of things they need to buy, so.”

“Need, or want?”

“I’m not sure Lottie knows the difference, to be honest. But mom asked… How am I supposed to say no?”

Michael makes a disapproving noise in his throat. “Does she know you don’t like navigating crowds on your own?”

“Mhm.” Louis’ hand returns to his mouth, worrying at his bottom lip with his fingernails. “But it’s only a few hours. It’s not going to kill me,” he says mechanically. “And I don’t visit often, so it’s really the least I can do.”

After a couple of seconds of silence, Michael exhales loudly through his nose. “Just… be careful, alright?” he says quietly. “It gets mad out there during Black Friday sales.”

“Yeah.” Louis sits up, lowering his feet to the floor, knuckling an eye tiredly. “I’ll call you Saturday for your birthday, alright?”

“Alright, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you,” he adds, almost as though to himself.

“Tuesday, right?”

“I haven’t seen you in almost two weeks, between my work trip and Thanksgiving,” Michael says for an answer. “Too long.”

Louis nods even though Michael can’t see him. “I—” He bites his smarting bottom lip, hesitant, for a moment, but doesn’t go on. “You’d better go, or you won’t get any dessert,” he says instead. “And you can’t miss out on pumpkin pie, Michael.”

As usual, Michael goes along with the change in topic. “I take it you didn’t get any?” he asks, between amused and sympathetic.

“No. There was only pecan, which is vastly inferior.”

The earnestness and vexation in his voice makes Michael laugh. “I love your very strong opinions on very random things.”

“Random but important.”

“Of course,” Michael responds, laughter in his voice.

 

Louis’ smile lingers even after he hangs up and goes back downstairs. He can hear that everyone has relocated to the living room, so he heads to the kitchen, where he finds his mother loading the dishwasher.

“Good call?” she comments when she catches sight of him.

“Yeah. Is there anything left in the dining room to bring in?”

“No, we cleared the table. That was quite a long call you had…” she says with an affected laugh.  

“Sorry, I thought—” he falters, quickly reaching for some dishes that still hadn’t been scraped clean of leftovers. “I’ll help now.”

Jill gives him a smile, and starts gathering the cutlery to wash. “Was it that boy you’ve mentioned?” she asks, her tone casual.

“Mhm. He’s, um, my boyfriend, actually, mom.”

She looks at him, smile still on her face. “That’s nice, honey. You know I adored John, but I’m glad you’re moving on.”

“Right.”

“You know nothing’s changed, though.”

Louis sets the dish down, frowning in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Only that it might be best if you keep it to yourself when you’re here?” she explains.

“Mom, I don’t care who knows I’m gay,” he says firmly.

“I know, Louis. But you don’t know if our guests want to hear about that. It’s just not convenient, honey. And it’s not necessary. It won’t kill you to pretend for a bit, will it, to do this for your mother?”

She keeps her chin up, even though it trembles, not looking away when Louis stares at her blankly in silence.

He shakes his head, at last, lips pressed tight, as Alithis comes up to lean against his leg for comfort.

“Thank you, honey.” Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Jill hurries over to give him a hug. “You know I love you more than anything,” she says, holding him close. 

—

Alithis yawns, stretching lethargically as she wakes up. “We need to stop falling asleep.”

“Why?” Louis asks drowsily.

Tucked between his legs and the back of the couch, Alithis rests her head on his hip over the shifting blanket, digging her chin in deliberately. “Because we missed the best part of the movie. Again.”

Louis lets out a giggle. “We can go back—” he says, rubbing at his eyes with a sweater paw. “Where’s the remote?”

They both cast their eyes around the room, dim in the dusk.

“There!” Alithis calls out. “Under the table.”

The remote is too far to reach without getting up, and Louis stares at it for a long moment, squinting, before shutting his eyes. “Eh. We’ve seen the movie before.”

As he moves to burrow deeper under the blanket, he tenses up with sharp, sibilant inhale, sleepiness dissipating in an instant at the pain. After a minute he relaxes back into the couch, though some strain remains around the corners of his mouth.

“You pushed yourself too hard these last few days,” Alithis whispers.

Louis doesn’t answer, staring at the ceiling, face drawn. The loud buzz from the intercom by the front door startles them both.

He glances at it and then back at Alithis. “I’m not home.”

“What if someone got locked out?” she says over the second round of buzzing, while Louis gropes distractedly for his phone as it vibrates with an incoming text, somewhere around his knee.

His eyes widen when he opens the text to a picture of Michael with a sheepish smile, standing outside the apartment building in the rain. “It’s Michael!” he tells Alithis, wincing as he scrambles off the couch to buzz him in.

“Why do you look so worried?” Alithis asks when Louis returns from rushing to his room to find a towel.

Standing before the front door, Louis hugs the towel to his chest, shuffling his bare feet nervously. “I don’t know. I’m not… I’m not doing anything wrong, am I?”

“You mean anything that might make him mad,” Alithis says quietly.

A knock on the door cuts their conversation short, Louis quickly turning away from his daemon to open the door.

“Am I in time for the Iron Man marathon?” Michael says in greeting, Raisa standing behind him, her coat glistening from the rain. He has an overnight bag slung over his shoulder, a plastic bag in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other. But Louis doesn’t register much but his kind, smiling eyes, and the wide grin on his face, which is beaded with rain drops.

“Not even close, sorry,” he replies with a smile, holding the towel out to Michael, who quickly sets the plastic bag on the floor in order to take it. Louis’ playful tone wavers: “I wasn’t expecting you,” he says, reaching up in a compulsive movement to fix his hair.

Before he can smooth out his sweatshirt, rumpled from his nap on the couch, though, Michael presses the flowers into his hands. “These are for you.”

Louis feels out the smooth texture of a few different petals while Michael puts down his bag to shrug out of his coat, and towel dries his face and hair. “They’re beautiful, thank you,” he says, raising the bouquet to his nose.

Looping the towel around his neck, Michael brings Louis in for a kiss with a careful hand on his waist, the other coming up to palm the side of his neck. “ _You’re_ beautiful.”

A hand on Michael’s hip for balance as he gets on his tiptoes, Louis brings their lips together again in response, the flowers getting a little squashed between them in the process. “I can’t believe you’re here—we talked earlier.” Louis lets out a little gasp of realisation. “It’s still your birthday!”

Michael laughs, and bends down to give him a peck on the cheek. “It is,” he says simply, picking up the plastic bag from the floor, and moving so that Raisa can step into the apartment. “I brought dinner: turkey sandwiches from home, and birthday cake—sound alright?”

Louis hums, attempting to hold back a teasing smile. “Depends on the type of cake.”

“It’s not chocolate, but I think you’ll still like it,” Michael says with a chuckle. His forehead creases, however, when they reach the kitchen, which is immaculate. “Have you eaten today?” he asks, turning back to Louis after setting the bag on the countertop.

Louis blinks at him, the smile fading from his face, as he puts the flowers down on the drainboard. “I had some popcorn,” he mumbles, stroking a rose petal between thumb and forefinger.

Michael holds out his hand to Louis, who takes it. “Sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself,” he says softly.

“I’ve been—I didn’t have much appetite. And I ate a lot on Thursday.” His eyes on their interlocked hands swinging between them, Louis doesn’t look up until Michael pulls him closer.

“Well, it’s Saturday night, so how about something to eat now, hm?” He keeps his tone light, and presses a kiss to the back of Louis’ hand before letting him go. “Have you got any soup, to go with the sandwiches?”

Louis nods toward the cupboard, but reaches out for Michael when he steps toward it, holding onto his arm. Michael looks at him in surprise, but Louis doesn’t give him time to ask, throwing one arm over his shoulder and wrapping the other around his middle for a hug.

Michael hugs him back tight, lifting him off his feet a couple of times, and waiting for Louis to be the one to end the embrace. “I love how much you love hugs,” he whispers like a secret between them, smiling.

Louis, still in the circle of his arms, breathes out a laugh, blushing.

“And I love your laugh,” Michael continues, rubbing his back in a slow, careful movement from the bottom of his spine to his shoulder blades. “And your smile.”

Louis ducks his head, smiling shyly.

“Your eyes,” Michael says, his tone reverential, when Louis looks up from under his eyelashes. His eyes drop to Louis’ lips. “Your mouth.”

They kiss, soft and slow.

“I could go on,” he says playfully. “It’s a long list.”

Louis shakes his head, nose scrunched up trying hard to contain his smile. “Please don’t.” He thumbs at the corner of Michael’s mouth, and gets on his tiptoes to give him another kiss. “I really, really, really like _you_ ,” he whispers against the corner of his mouth, before sliding out of his embrace, keeping his back to him as he busies himself with the soup cupboard. “What soup would go well with the sandwiches, do you think?”

 

“What is it?” Michael asks, looking down at him with a lopsided smile when he catches Louis staring at him instead of watching the film.

“You’ve got a bit of cake on your beard,” Louis says, touching two fingers to his chin.

“I’m not falling for that again,” Michael says with a bark of laughter, making a halfhearted grab for Louis’ hand.

Giggling, his face buried against Michael’s chest, Louis tucks his arm close to his side to avoid him. Michael pretends to grumble, and gives him a careful squeeze where he has an arm wrapped around him, before going back to the film.

Louis lasts for a few minutes before he starts twisting his fingers in the fabric of Michael’s shirt, even though the rest of him remains relaxed, lying half on top of Michael with his head on his chest.

“Louis, what is it?” Michael asks again, peering down at him again.

Louis releases his shirt and pats his stomach, without looking away from the screen. “Nothing. It’s just…” His hand finds Michael’s where it was resting on his hip. “It’s nice you’re here,” he says quietly, interlacing their fingers.

Michael kisses the top of his head. “It’s nice to be here.”

Louis chews on his lips for a minute before he speaks again, his fingers tightening around Michael’s before letting go. “I just don’t understand. I thought you were going to spend your birthday with your family. Is everything alright?” he asks, raising himself on one hand in the space between Michael and the back of the couch so he can look him in the face.

Michael’s arm slips from around his shoulders, but wraps around his waist instead. “Everything’s good, sweetheart,” he says, raising a hand to smooth out the worry lines on Louis’ forehead, before becoming distracted: tracing out the arch of his eyebrow, brushing his cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You know I see my family often, and I did spend my birthday with them… for a few hours. But I also wanted to spend it with you.” Michael breaks into a grin. “I told you I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Blushing, Louis turns his face into Michael’s palm for a moment, before lying down again. “You know, that’s not normally how birthday surprises work,” he mumbles, giving Michael a light pinch in the side.

Michael laughs, and succeeds in trapping Louis’ hand this time, holding it in a loose clasp on his chest. “Maybe they should—it’s the best I’ve ever had.”

Louis only shakes his head, hiding his smile, and snuggles closer.

—

“Why are you awake?” Louis mumbles without opening his eyes, movement sluggish as he wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before tucking it back under his chin, fingers curled around the collar of the tee shirt, loose on him because it’s Michael’s.

In only his boxer shorts, Michael lies back to front behind him, raised on one elbow against a folded up pillow. “Because it’s past nine, and I’m used to getting up at seven. Why are _you_ awake, hm?” he says with a quiet chuckle, sliding an arm around Louis’ middle, pulling him closer.

Eyes still closed, Louis hums contentedly, and huddles up back against Michael. “I could feel you staring at me,” he replies, deadpan.

Michael laughs. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. You’re very beautiful, you know.” He catches the flutter of Louis’ long, dark lashes as his eyes open in surprise, before he turns his face into the pillow to hide his blush.

“Thank you,” Louis says shyly, tucking one of his feet between Michael’s ankles. “But that’s not going to get me out of bed so early on a Sunday.”

Michael noses at his hair, laughing. “You don’t have to get up,” he assures Louis, rubbing his belly under the tee shirt.

Louis makes another pleased noise, eyes falling closed again as Michael starts kissing along his jaw and neck when he angles his head toward him. “Missed this,” he murmurs.

Michael’s hand slides up to the middle of his chest. “Hm?”

“You, in my bed.”

Michael drops a kiss behind his ear. “I did too. Very much.”

Wordlessly, Louis guides Michael’s hand to a sore spot over his ribs, holding his hand there with his own for a minute.

“Louis—”

Louis squeezes his hand in a convulsive gesture when he feels the mattress shift. “Don’t go, please,” he whispers. “Don’t get up yet.”

“I wasn’t going to, sweetheart,” Michael replies softly. “Just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

After a moment, Louis turns around so they are face to face, his hands up against his chest and nose coming to rest in the base of Michael’s throat. “Michael?” he says quietly, playing with the bit of hair on Michael’s chest.

“Yeah?” Michael holds him close: in the circle of one arm, his hand reaching across to his shoulder; and the other hand spread on his back.

In a slow, deliberate movement, Louis entwines their legs, nestling closer so that Michael’s half hard cock presses up against his belly. “It wasn’t bothering me,” he says, pushing his own cock against Michael’s upper thigh.

“Oh.”

“At all.”

When Louis starts rolling his hips in measured, tight circles, Michael’s hand slides down his back to the dip at the bottom of his spine, drawing him closer, then over his hip to run up and down his thigh. After a couple of minutes, he draws his arm from around Louis, so that Louis ends up flat on his back with Michael holding himself up over him, though their legs remain entangled.

A little breathless, Louis blinks up at him, lips parted and cheeks flushed.

Michael’s eyes rove his face for a long moment, down his neck and chest, before zeroing in on his lips. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he groans, leaning down to kiss Louis hard, the hand gripping his hip slipping back to grip his arse, lifting his hips up the mattress.

A small moan escapes Louis, and he reaches for Michael, clutching at his shoulder with one hand, while the other holds onto his upper arm over his elbow, fingers digging into the muscles.

“Is this OK?” Michael murmurs, bringing his hand up to fit the concave curve of Louis’ lower back. “Can I touch you?”

Head thrown back, Louis nods, eyes squeezed tight and cradling the back of Michael’s head as he sucks wet, biting kisses on his neck.

Michael makes an appreciative sound low in his throat, mouth still attached to Louis’ neck, and pulls Louis’ shirt up to bunch up at his underarms. His hands don’t stop still as they move against each other, following the dips and edges of his body, making Louis’ skin tingle and flush.

But when Michael hooks fingers on his pyjama bottoms, Louis squirms, and shies away from his touch.

“Love—”

Louis holds two fingers to his lips, stopping him before he can say anything more.

“I—I’ve only ever been with one person before,” he confesses in a rush, his voice hushed.

“Like—?”

“For everything, except kissing.”

Obviously taken aback, Michael stares at him for an instant.

“Is that OK?” Louis asks in a small voice.

Michael holds his jaw to give him a kiss. “Of course it’s OK, sweetheart.” His eyes, earnest and caring, don’t leave Louis’. “I can’t guarantee it’ll be perfect, but I want to make it so good for you, Louis.”

“I want it to be good for you too,” Louis replies, rocking into Michael again.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Michael says firmly, pinning Louis’ hips down on the mattress as he starts to kiss down his chest. “But you have to tell me if there’s anything you don’t like—” His fingers find the waistband of Louis’ bottoms again. “OK?”

Bottom lip between his teeth, Louis nods. “You’re… off to a good start.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Michael takes it slow, trailing kisses along his hip bones and mouthing at his cock over his pants until Louis’ thighs are shaking. But when he tugs the bottoms down his legs, Louis gets anxious, knees knocking together and palms slipping on the sheets as he scrambles to sits up, drawing back against the headboard.

He strives to hold Michael’s eyes as he hastens to pull the shirt over his head. “I don’t want to stop,” he says quickly, gripping the balled up tee in both hands to his chest. “Sorry, I…” With a deep breath, he stretches out one of his legs to nudge Michael’s knee with his toe. “I’m nervous. I don’t… know what I’m… supposed to do, with you.”

“Sweetheart—” Michael sits back on his heels, hands on his thighs. 

“But I want to figure it out.” Louis hides behind his hand for a moment as he fixes his fringe, before meeting Michael’s eyes again. “I want you.”

“I want you too,” Michael says simply, offering him a soft smile.

Louis’ lips quirk, and he inches forward. “I can see that.” Though his tone is deadpan, it can’t conceal the slight quaver in his voice. “I think. It might be the lighting,” he quips.

Michael lets out a laugh, teeth flashing in a bright grin. “It’s not the lighting,” he says, widening his stance sat on his knees, he gives himself a squeeze over his pants, outlining the length of his cock.

The tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips, Louis stares for a long moment, following the lines of his vee cut up to the defined abdominal muscles, the breadth of his chest and wide shoulders, then up to his face, full lips curved and lids heavy over his dark eyes.

“I—” Raising himself on his knees, he moves closer and, bottom lip between his teeth, frees Michael’s cock. “Shit, you’re big,” he says, reaching out to take him in hand. His touch is tentative, using the tips of his fingers to skim over the shaft and explore the weight of his balls.

With a chuckle, Michael brings Louis in for a kiss, a hand on the back of his neck, and the other on his hip.

Louis’ breath stutters against Michael’s lips when their cocks brush against each other. “Wait, I’ve got—” Turning around, he bends over to reach into the bedside table drawer for a small bottle of lube, which he almost drops at the touch to the back of his thigh. He feels the bed dip as Michael comes up behind him, close enough that when Louis straightens up, their bodies are pressed together, back to chest and down to their hips.

Michael holds him around the waist, spreading a hand on his chest, then sliding down. “What do you want to do?” he asks, lips against Louis’ nape as he gives his arse a squeeze with his other hand. “Tell me what you like, sweetheart.”

“I—Michael—” Louis is torn between pushing against the hand nearing his cock, and the fingers dipping between his cheeks. “Want you to fuck me,” he stammers. “Can we—Will you?”

“Fuck, yes.” Michael clutches him tight for a moment, so that Louis can feel the heat and hardness of his cock against his hip. “I’ll give it to you—give you anything, everything you want.”  

Twisting in his arms in order to kiss him, Louis barely registers Michael taking the lube from his hand.

“Lie down, get comfortable,” Michael urges, guiding Louis to lie on his stomach.

Louis pillows his head in his arms, his face hot and his skin breaking out in goose bumps when Michael spreads him open.

“Look at you, so pretty all over,” he says in a heated murmur.

The click of the bottle being opened is audible, and a few seconds later Louis feels wet fingertips between his legs. “When was the last time you touched yourself like this?” Michael asks, rubbing lightly at his rim.

Mouth dry, Louis fumbles for words. “Last week. I kept thinking how… how much I wanted it to be you doing it.”

Michael hums low in his throat. “I’ve thought about it so many times before: getting to open you up like this, nice and slow.”

Louis’ breath hitches all of a sudden, his hips bucking.

“That feel good?” Michael curls his finger again, making Louis gasp.

Biting at his knuckles, Louis nods, hips moving in circles to rub his cock against the bed. His spreads his legs a little wider, and has to smother his moans in a pillow as Michael keeps working him open.

“Why don’t you let me hear you, hm?”

Louis goes rigid holding back a whine at the drag of Michael’s fingers inside him. “I’m too loud,” he whimpers, muscles shaking from the tension.

“You’re not.” Michael scatters a few kisses along his spine, even as he teases at his rim and perineum. “You shouldn’t be worrying about anything.”

Louis raises himself on his elbows with his head hanging between his shoulders, breathing short, trembling under Michael’s touch, though he had stopped teasing, drawing back and leaving a hand resting on the small of Louis’ back.

“Louis, let me take care of you,” Michael says softly.

After a long moment, Louis lies back down with an audible, quavering exhalation. “I… I need another finger before I can take your cock. You’re stupidly big, you know?” he says, voice shaking.

Michael breathes out a small laugh as he squeezes some more lube onto his fingers. “I’ll give you whatever you need, sweetheart.”

Louis lets out a little gasp when Michael pushes back in, and it’s not long before every other twist of his wrist draws forth a quiet moan.

Michael has to leave the bed to fetch a condom from his bag in the corner of the room, and Louis watches him as he does, one hand resting on his heaving stomach, and the other reaching for his cock, glistening with precome and sensitive as he gives himself a few long, slow strokes, thumbing at the head.

“Are you alright on your back?” Michael asks, one foot on the bed as he rolls the condom down his cock. “I’d like to see your face.”

Dragging his eyes from his cock up to his face, Louis nods, and spreads his legs for Michael to get between them. “Want to see you too,” he whispers after Michael leans in to kiss him. He lets Michael fold him up, positioning his legs over his shoulders, as he guides his cock to Louis’ hole.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Michael tells him, slowly easing in.

Louis shakes his head, holding onto Michael’s back. “Just… go slow.”

Michael keeps his eyes glued to Louis’ face, drinking in the slow blinking and small, quiet gasps bursting from his lips with every inch he takes. “How’s that?” he asks once he bottoms out, pressing their mouths together in a hard kiss.

“Mm. It’s good,” he replies, the words coming out slurred.

“Fuck, love, taking me so well.”

Louis bites his lip through a moan when Michael starts moving, holding himself over Louis. He fucks Louis with slow, precise thrusts, staying in deep, and Louis can’t keep quiet, breathless and whimpering, as Michael brings him closer and closer to orgasm. “Michael, kiss me.” He scrabbles at Michael’s back, then the nape of his neck, with one hand, the other reaching for his cock between their bodies. “Kiss me, please.”

Michael bends down to press a quick, hard kiss to his mouth. “Louis, go on, sweetheart, you’re so close, aren’t you?” he groans, pulling back so he can look at him, while speeding up his thrusts.

A few thrusts later, Louis is spilling between them with a small cry, Michael stilling for a few seconds while Louis clenches around him.

“So gorgeous, shit—” Michael rasps, running a hand through the mess on Louis’ stomach before reaching around to grip his arse, tilting his hips up as he starts moving again. Louis gets folded almost double when Michael leans down and buries his head in the crook of his shoulder. “Gonna make me come so hard.”

Despite the heaviness in his body, Louis reaches up with his clean hand to smooth a palm over the shaved base of Michael’s head. “Finish in me,” he murmurs, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Michael does, pushed in deep inside Louis, swearing under his breath.

After a few tender kisses to his neck, he straightens, carefully pulling out and helping Louis lower his legs, before disposing of the condom in the bin next to the bed. “OK?” He turns back to Louis with a smile, but it flickers when he sees that Louis hasn’t moved except to roll out one of his ankles. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he questions with a small frown of concern.

Body tense, Louis worries at his lips, then heaves a breath. “I like to cuddle after sex,” he says timidly. “Could we…?”

Michael’s face crumples at the timidity in his voice. “Jesus, Louis, of course we can. Come here.” He lies down to hold Louis close, pulling the duvet over them, making sure Louis is warm and comfortable.

Louis’ hugs him tight, snuffling against his chest. “I’m sorry—Thank you—” he rambles.

Michael shakes his head, and, unable to speak for a moment, can only press a fervent kiss to the side of his head.

“Was it good for you?” Louis asks after a minute, craning his neck to look at him, his eyes searching.

“So, so good,” Michael answers honestly, reaching for Louis’ hand where it’s curled up in a loose fist on his chest. “Do you have any idea how beautiful and lovely you are?”

Louis ducks his head automatically with a shy smile, but doesn’t resist when Michael rolls them onto their sides so they can face each other.

“How was it for you?”

“It was perfect,” Louis answers without hesitation, his small smile both wondering and wistful as he reaches out to stroke Michael’s cheek.

Michael nudges his face against his hand, kissing the heel of his palm in lieu of words. Mesmerised by the sweep of Louis’ eyelashes, he runs a hand across his back to fit the dip of his waist. “Yeah? You’re not too sore?” he asks finally.

Louis shakes his head, leaning in to brush their lips together briefly. “It’s a good kind of sore. I’m just sticky.”

At Michael’s crooked grin, Louis gives him a light, playful slap on the cheek, making him chuckle and catch hold of his hand, holding it to his chest.

“Michael, I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” Louis says abruptly in a hushed tone.

“You have nothing to say sorry for, sweetheart." Michael squeezes his fingers. "There’s no timeline.”

Louis looks away, the corners of his mouth downturned. “I just—I’m afraid you’re waiting for something, and I…” Exhaling shakily, he raises his eyes to Michael. “I don’t know if there’s anything more I can give you. I don’t know what’s… left of me, and—” His voice breaks, and he can’t bring himself to continue.

Michael cradles his face in both hands. “Louis, I just want to be with you. I know you probably find it hard to believe, or understand, but being with you… it makes me feel like I’ve won the lottery.” His eyes are unwavering on Louis as he speaks. “I wish you could see how special you are, sweetheart—as you are, no matter what.”

With a sigh, Louis leans in so that their foreheads press together, wetness clinging to his lashes when he closes his eyes. “Thank you for—” He pecks him on the lips, then hugs him, hiding his face against his neck. “Thank you.”

Michael shakes his head, and holds him close, spreading his hand over the bottom of his ribcage where Louis frequently hurts most.

—

The beach is deserted except for a couple of surfers far out in the water, and a lone figure with a dog daemon walking far ahead. Louis trudges along the water’s edge barefoot, slip on shoes in one hand and sweatpants rolled up to mid-calf. The damp sand feels almost warm between his toes, but his hands are red and aching from the cold as he crouches to pick up another seashell, sand sticking to his fingers.

Alithis’ squeal makes him look up, smiling. His daemon keeps wandering too close to the edge and then springing back to avoid the rush of water from reaching her as the wave washes in with a clash. When Louis catches her eye she canters up to him, careening into his arms, giggling; and, with a small laugh, Louis lets himself fall back to sit on the sand, Alithis between his outstretched legs.

“Did you collect your shells?” she asks, but gets distracted nosing at the turn ups of his sweatpants, which are damp and crusted with sand. “You went in too far before,” she comments.

“Or I didn’t roll them high enough,” Louis counters jokingly.

With a chuckle, Alithis cuddles up against his chest. “You’re out of practice,” she says in a teasing tone. “It’s been too long.”

Wrapping his arms around his daemon, Louis rests his cheek against the top of of her head. “I know,” he sighs.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly, leaning back to look at him “You shouldn’t feel bad for taking some time to start driving again after the accident.”

“I know, but…” Louis shrugs, hunching in his coat. “I don’t want to be scared of this too.” He wipes under his nose with his sleeve, sniffling, his face drawn. “Fear is…  exhausting, and it never… stops. I get so tired sometimes, Ali.”

Alithis whines, burrowing against him again. “It gets better, though,” she whispers. “Easier.”

Louis’ lips twitch but don’t quite manage to turn up into a smile. He nods, however, even as he shivers. “Yeah… We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Yes we are,” Alithis says solemnly. They sit together for a minute, surrounded by the roar of the ocean, before she nudges Louis’ shoulder. “But we should probably head home.”

“Before it gets dark,” Louis agrees.

“Before you get frostbite.”

Louis breathes out a faint laugh as he heaves himself to his feet. “I’m freezing, but I’m glad we came,” he says quietly, tucking his shoes under an elbow and his hands under his armpits.

He sings under his breath as they walk to the car.

—

“Shit, it’s cold,” Louis mutters, rubbing his upper arms over his sweater, the lit cigarette he holds between two fingers angled out. The motion still dislodges some ash, though, which clings to his upper arm and elbow, visible on the dark fabric.

“It’s warmer in here, if you don’t want to go back up,” Alithis pipes up, sticking her head out of the car, propped up on the edge of the open window on the front passenger side.

Leaning against the side of the car, Louis takes another drag of his cigarette. “We’ll go back inside in a minute. I just… need a moment.”

“You should’ve told Michael that, instead of making up some story, Louis,” Alithis says quietly.

Louis tips his head back, peering up to see if he can see some stars, gripping his elbow as he smokes. “I don’t want to worry him, or bother him. It’s not a big deal.”

Alithis gives a small sigh in response. “I think it’s starting to rain,” she says after a minute.

In the time Louis finishes his cigarette, his sweater is shimmering with droplets catching the light from the street lamps, and fine rain has settled like mist around them. As he stubs out the cigarette, he sees Michael bounding down the front steps of the apartment building across the street with both their coats slung over one arm, his daemon a few steps behind him. Louis keeps his foot over the cigarette stub as Michael comes up to him, even though he knows he probably saw, and can smell the smoke.

“Get in here,” Michael says without preamble, holding Louis’ coat open for Louis to slip into, then draping his own parka over him as well, before ushering Louis into the backseat of the car. Climbing in after him, he pulls Louis in against his chest, folding Louis’ chilled hands in his own.

“I’m not hypothermic,” Louis says with a breath of laughter. “I was out for two minutes.”

“Try fifteen.” Michael gives him a squeeze, pressing a kiss to Louis’ damp hair. “And you get cold easily.”

Wrestling out of his tight embrace, Louis turns to give him a quick kiss before leaning back in the seat. “I’m fine, Michael. Sorry, I know you don’t like the taste,” he adds, wincing, as he remembers the acrid taste of cigarettes in his mouth.

“It’s fine, love.” Michael leans over to kiss him again, giving the lapels of his coat a firm tug to bring them closer around Louis. “But I take it you hadn’t forgotten your phone in the car?”

Louis raises his hands to his chest, clutching at Michael’s coat with the excuse of keeping it in place around his shoulders. “I needed some air, sorry.”

“Did something happen, was someone rude to you?”

“No, no, not on purpose.”

“What happened accidentally then?” Michael asks with a strained attempt at humour, hoisting Louis’ legs onto his lap, calves over his thighs.

“Nothing, honestly.” Louis gives a one sided shrug, his eyes downcast. “It’s just… hard sometimes.” He clears his throat a few times, but finds himself reaching for Michael’s hand where it rests on his knee. “I just—Sometimes I feel like I’m… all twisted out of shape, so I can’t ever really fit in anymore.”

Michael rubs over his knuckles with his thumb soothingly. “Louis, what happened?” he repeats.

“Nothing. _Really_ , nothing happened,” he insists when Michael’s frown deepens with concern. “It was… a normal conversation. We were talking about school and our favourite teachers.” He bites at the inside of his cheek, the hand tucked under his chin in a clenched fist. “And I… I wanted to say Simon. It’s like part of me will always be fourteen, and over the moon because the coolest teacher in school paid attention to me.”

“You were fourteen, he took advantage—”

Staring out the window behind Michael into the dark street, Louis shakes his head. “I got a letter from him when I graduated from university, you know, congratulating me… and I kept it. I still have it.” He draws both his hands up to his face, pressing his fingertips over his eyes. “And when I saw him in August… I told him he looked good when he asked because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings,” he says with a strangled laugh.

“Sweetheart—”

Louis’ breathing stutters, and he presses his knuckles tight against his forehead as he hides his face behind the sleeves of his coat. “I have this pain that will never go away because of him…” he continues, his voice breaking. “And a part of me still wants his approval. I still feel like I owe him.”

“Louis, come here, love.” Michael gathers him against his chest, despite Louis’ instinctive resistance, grasping at his thigh and his hip over his lap to pull him even closer.

“I hate it,” Louis wheezes against Michael’s shoulder, hands balled into fists on his chest, his entire body stiff with tension. “I hate feeling like this. I studied Psychology; I know it’s… normal, but I hate it. I hate that I can’t—that I—” His voice breaks again, and he stops to draw in a shuddering breath. Drained all of a sudden, his body goes lax, hands dropping to his lap. “I wish I could just hate him,” he says, scarcely audible. “Because that’s what he deserves, isn’t it?” he adds in a small voice.

Michael brushes Louis’ soft hair with his fingers, in silence for a minute. “He abused your trust, and he hurt you and helped other people hurt you,” he says finally. “I don’t know if hating him would make you feel better. But you shouldn’t feel bad about whatever you feel. _He_ should feel bad, not you. OK?”

Louis doesn’t raise his head, but nods, and slips an arm around Michael’s waist. “You need to go back to your friends,” he says after a long moment.

Rubbing his back, Michael shushes him softly. But Louis pulls out of his embrace, eyes darting about as he avoids looking at him. “I think I’m going to call a taxi—don’t be mad, please—I just don’t think I’m up for more socialising right now. I’m sorry, I wish I was stronger, but I’m—” His hands shake as he tugs at Michael’s heavy coat to give it back to him.

Michael sits up and takes hold of his hands to stop him, then readjusts the parka around Louis, pulling the hood up for good measure. “I’m driving you home, and we’ll watch a movie and eat ice cream in bed,” he says, smiling at Louis as he raises the large hood which had fallen right over Louis’ eyes.

“No, Michael—”

“Do you want to go to yours or mine? There’s cookie dough and Stracciatella at my place.” Michael kisses his nose, making Louis bite his lip through a tremulous smile.

“I love that one,” Louis whispers.

“I know you do, that’s why I always have it now.”

Louis ducks his head bashfully, causing the hood to slip too low over his face again. “I have that monstrosity you like taking up space in my freezer too.”

Michael chuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, raspberry almond is delicious.”

“I keep telling you, you’ve got terrible taste,” Louis teases, though his voice is too soft, and his eyes show his exhaustion as he pushes the hood back to look at Michael.

After a second of hesitation, Michael starts tickling him, careful even over the coat, making Louis squirm and giggle breathily.

“I’m joking, it’s all good.” Louis paws at Michael with a small smile still on his face, as he catches his breath.

Michael returns his smile, but the line between his eyebrows doesn’t smooth out as he tidies Louis’ hair before cupping his face to kiss him.

 

“You don’t need to be strong, whatever that means, Louis. You don’t have anything to prove.” The words bursts out of Michael all of a sudden, well into the second movie in bed, bowls long scraped clean of ice cream on the bedside table. He sits in a tee shirt and sweat shorts, propped up against the headboard with an arm draped around Louis’ shoulders. “I love you, I want you to be happy. But it’s OK when you’re not.”

Louis turns his head to stare at him, wide eyed, even as he reaches up instinctively to hold Michael’s hand over his chest.

“And I need you to know I’m never going to be mad at you for something like that, OK?” Michael continues, sounding pained. “I told you, there’s no timeline, I’m not… waiting for anything. I want every day with you as it comes, Louis,” he says quietly, looking him in the eye, earnest and unwavering.

Frozen in place, and his throat too tight to speak, Louis can’t do anything but squeeze his fingers in response. But Michael tries to encourage him into a verbal answer. “OK?” he prompts, lips curving in a tentative smile.

Louis nods, swallowing thickly. “OK.”

Michael leans in to peck him on the lips when Louis tilts his chin up in invitation, then follows his lead and turns back to watch the movie.

After a couple of minutes, however, Louis moves, climbing onto Michael’s lap, straddling him.

Michael’s hands go straight to clasp his waist.

“You’re too good to me…” Louis whispers, holding his face in both hands. “For me.”

“No, I’m not—”

Louis interrupts him with a kiss, sliding his hands down to hold onto Michael’s shoulders as he starts rocking his hips. “Michael, just—Please,” he murmurs, bringing their lips together again and again. “Want you.”

“Fuck, Louis—” Michael groans, slipping both hands under Louis’ pajama bottoms to play with his arse as Louis moves on top of him.

Before long he has Louis sitting on his cock, hands splayed out on his chest, breathing hard as he gets used to the stretch.

“Feel so good, sweetheart,” Michael groans, making Louis whine when he runs a large hand down his naked back to tease his hole.

Louis rides him, slow and rhythmical, with his head down and his eyes closed, until Michael cradles his jaw in one hand, thumbing at his wet bottom lip and lifting his chin up. “Look so pretty.”

Louis can’t look away from his heated gaze as he rises and falls on his cock, even as Michael presses a trail of kisses to the inside of his forearm and wrist. “I’m not going to last,” he pants after a few minutes, breathless, his rhythm faltering.

“Come for me, love.” Michael takes over with a tight grip on his arse as he thrusts, hard and fast, until Louis collapses against his chest and finally comes with a whimper.

Moaning under his breath, Louis kisses across Michael’s chest. “Love the way you fuck me,” he breathes against his neck. He gasps when, after a couple more thrusts, Michael pulls out and, quickly removing the condom, slides his cock between Louis’ cheeks, slick with lube, for a few seconds, before coming.

“Might as well fuck me bare, if you’re going to leave me dripping like that,” Louis says, giggling when Michael rolls them over.

“Yeah?” Michael asks, still catching his breath, eyes darting over Louis’ face.

Keeping eye contact as he crosses his ankles over the small of Michael’s back, Louis nods.

With a groan, Michael bends down to kiss him. “How’d I get so lucky to have you?” he wonders in a hush.

“Don’t,” Louis whispers, angling his head to the side, chin to his shoulder.

Michael doesn’t insist, instead starting to kiss a path over his collarbones and up his neck. Louis kisses back when Michael reaches his mouth.

—

Zayn practically drags him out of the car, and shepherds him along the street with his arms pinned to his sides, Alithis trotting to keep up while Shahparee waddles behind at her own pace.

“You gave away more than half the money from the sale of the house—”

“It didn’t feel right to keep it, Zayn, I hadn’t seen her in years. And I don’t want anything to do with him—” Louis argues, repeating himself.

“Fine, it’s your call.” Zayn pushes him unceremoniously into the music store. “But you _are_ getting yourself this one thing,”

“But I already have a guitar,” Louis protests weakly, even as he looks around with obvious longing. “I don’t really need another one.”

Zayn leads him over to the guitar section to stand in front of a particular electric guitar mounted on the wall. “I don’t care. This guitar is sick, bro. You like it, you want it, you’re getting it.”

“Remember when we thought I might settle as a robin?” Alithis asks, eyes on the lark daemon of the shop assistant Zayn has tracked down by the wind instruments.

“Mhm. I’m kind of glad you didn’t—it’d be harder to cuddle,” Louis replies with a small smile.

Alithis rubs her head against his knee, humming in agreement. Louis scratches the top of her head, but looks back at the bird daemon with a tiny frown. “Do you ever wonder how you would have settled… if they hadn’t…” Louis asks in a low voice.

“Sometimes. But… this is me. They took a lot from us, but they didn’t… make me. We don’t belong to them.”

Louis swallows the sudden lump in his throat, crossing his arms over his middle. Catching his eye across the store, Zayn starts to signal for him to come over, but after a quick word to the assistant, heads over to Louis instead.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asks, giving him a careful hug.

Louis leans into the embrace for a second, breathing in deep, before he pulls back with a faint smile. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You know that doesn’t work on me.” Zayn keeps an arm around him, sliding up and down the dip of his waist in a comforting gesture. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Louis fixes his fringe and straightens up, raising his chin, his jaw tight. “This is for me. I… I want to enjoy this.”

Zayn gives a solemn nod. “Come on. There’s a room in the back where you can try out the guitar.”

 

“Feel good?” Zayn asks when Louis has the guitar balanced on his lap, watching him ease into a more comfortable playing position.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, unable to hold back a smile. He tries out a few notes and a scale, testing out the strings, before playing a short tune. His fingers stilling on the strings, he looks up at Zayn, face alight with excitement. “You want to try it?”

Zayn shakes his head and leans back against the wall. “Later,” he replies, voice and smile soft with affection.

 

“You’re sure you don’t mind him coming over for a bit?”

“Nah. I want to meet him.” Zayn thrums the strings on Louis’ old guitar lazily, legs stretched out in front of him with his ankles crossed, bare feet on the floor. “All I’ve got to go on is what you’ve told me.”

“Which is suspect. I know,” Louis says wearily. Sitting cross legged on the couch next to Zayn, he concentrates on the placement of his fingers on the strings as he familiarises himself with his new guitar.

Zayn shakes his head, draping an arm over the body of the guitar and letting the neck drop to rest on his thigh. “You’ve seemed good with him these last few months. And everything sounds right. But this will be a test, yeah? He’s had it easy up until now.”

Louis makes a face, though he doesn’t look up from the guitar. “He’s been dating _me_ , so, not really.”

“You’ve got to stop that, Louis,” Zayn says, a slight sharpness bleeding into his voice.

Mouth twisted to one side, Louis plucks at a string nervously. “Sorry,” he says quietly. Though he relaxes a little when Alithis gives his toes a light, ticklish nip, surprising a weak laugh from him.

Zayn reaches over to touch his knee. “Sorry, babe. But you’ve got to get it in your head it’s not some kind of hardship to date you.”

Louis busies himself wiping a smudge on the body of the guitar with the end of his sleeve. “He told me he loved me the other day…” he says in an undertone. “I think it slipped out.”

Disentangling himself from the guitar strap, Zayn takes a moment to answer, setting down the guitar and drawing a leg up on the couch as he turns to Louis before he speaks: “Just remember he has to show it too, yeah?” he says gently. “It’s not like John never said it.”

Louis bows his head, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “Yeah. I know.” He plays an airy piece until it passes and he can meet Zayn’s eyes. “He’s been good to me, Zayn,” he says earnestly.

Zayn nods, but his expression remains reserved. “I hope so.” He looks down when Louis’ phone, tucked under his thigh, vibrates. “He here?”

Bottom lip between his teeth, Louis checks the message. “Yeah. He’ll be up in a minute,” he replies, rising to his feet to put the guitar in its case, which lies on the other couch alongside Zayn’s daemon.

Shahparee grunts and ruffles her feathers at the knock on the door a couple of minutes later. Zayn’s face is impassive when Louis glances at him before heading over to open the door, tugging on the bottom of his shirt.

He fixes his fringe nervously before opening the door. “Hey,” he says, his voice coming out soft.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Michael leans down to give him a kiss, a hand on his waist. When Michael straightens up after the kiss, Louis stands on his tip toes, throwing his arms around his neck for a hug. Michael folds him in his arms immediately, bending down so that Louis can drop back on his heels. “OK?” he whispers in Louis’ ear, sweeping his hand down his back in a comforting gesture.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis assures him, taking a quick, deep breath before stepping back, though he clings to Michael’s arm. “Sorry, come in,” he says, peeking at Raisa.

Once Raisa is inside and the door closed, Zayn calls out from the couch, his tone casual. “Hey, man.”

Michael walks over to shake his hand, smiling. “Zayn, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

Unsmiling and chin thrust out, Zayn takes his hand, but doesn’t stand up.

“Had a good day?” Michael asks, making no comment on Zayn’s forceful handshake.

“Great one.”

“I’m glad.” Michael brushes a hand against the small of Louis’ back, and Louis leans into the touch. “Have you two had dinner?” he asks, turning to Louis.

“We had a late lunch,” Zayn answers, pointing out the remnants of their trip to McDonald’s lying around.

“You probably don’t want takeaway again, then?”

“Louis and me were thinking Indian, actually.”

Despite Zayn’s antagonistic tone, Michael doesn’t lose his calm and amicable demeanour. “That works for me. Will you have your usual curry, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head toward Louis.

“Yeah, you know me, creature of habit,” Louis replies with a slight smile. “But let me get you the menu.”

From the kitchen, lingering over the drawer with the take out menus, Louis watches Michael and Zayn engage in a whispered conversation, between posturing and earnest discussion as Zayn throws an arm around the back of the couch and spreads his legs, while Michael perches on the arm of the couch, propped up on one elbow.

Catching his eye, Alithis gives him a questioning look, to which Louis responds with a small shrug before heading back. “I feel like I’m third wheeling,” he jokes as he holds the menu out between them.

Michael laughs, but Zayn pulls him by the wrist down for Louis to sit on the couch next to him. “Come help me choose. What’s good here?”

“The coconut naan’s amazing,” Michael says casually.

 

“He seems nice enough,” Zayn tells Louis later that night, once they’re alone. “But it can’t hurt to keep your guard up.” And, the next day, before he leaves to go through security at the airport: “You’ll let me know if he pulls anything, won’t you?”

Louis nods and agrees, but he finds himself replaying the conversation from the night before as he makes his way through the crowd toward the exit.

“I don’t want to live like that, constantly on guard,” he laments to Alithis as he gets in the car. “And I don’t know… how. I’m not on guard, I’m scared.”

“You’ve never let that stop you,” Alithis says softly as they get into the car.

Selecting music for the drive, Louis doesn’t answer, but the corners of his mouth twitch, and he shakes his head with a faint smile before starting the car. Despite the music, his heart is racing by the time he arrives at Michael’s workplace, fifteen minutes late for their lunch date because he got held up in traffic.

He finds Michael waiting outside the office building, under the shade of a tree, Raisa munching on some low hanging leaves. Busy on his phone, it takes him a moment to see Louis, who finds himself almost holding his breath as he approaches.

Michael greets him with a welcoming smile, and Louis walks straight into his arms and buries his face in the crook of his shoulder. Holding tight onto the back of Michael’s shirt, Louis breathes in the familiar scent aftershave, and savours the warmth and weight of his body in their embrace.

“It must be hard to have your best friend on the other side of the country,” Michael murmurs into his hair after a moment.

Louis gives a nod, but then admits in a small voice, “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it, love?”

Louis’ fingers tighten around the fabric of Michael’s shirt, and he swallows hard before he answers. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” he whispers falteringly.  

“Mad at you?” Michael echoes, nonplussed. “Is this about you being late? The traffic’s not your fault, sweetheart.” In spite of the hint of amusement in his voice, his hands are tender and careful as he coaxes Louis to look at him, brushing his fringe from his forehead and tucking his hair behind his ear.

“That. And Zayn… and… everything,” Louis confesses, breath catching, fisting the back of Michael’s shirt. “It seems… too good to be true. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and you to start—” He ducks his head, face crumpling.

“Louis—”

“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong, please know that,” he says quickly in an unsteady voice, raising his eyes to Michael.

Michael cradles his face in one hand. “Neither have you.”

Louis turns his face into Michael’s palm, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks back tears.

“I understand why you… expect… things to become what you’re used to,” Michael says heavily. “And I know you can’t just believe they won’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers.

Michael leans down to press their foreheads together, his hand sliding from Louis’ cheek to cup the side of his neck. “I think—I hope with time it gets easier? One day at a time, yeah?”

Eyes closed, Louis lets out a long exhalation, then searches for Michael’s lips for a soft, lingering kiss before breaking apart. “That’s what Alithis said, you know.”

“You should probably listen to her,” Michael replies, a smile in his voice. “Our daemons always know best.”

Raisa neighs in agreement, surprising a breathy giggle out of Louis. After a second, however, he takes a step back to be able to look at Michael straight on. “If you ever get tired, though… don’t feel you have to stay,” he says gravely.

“OK.”

“I mean it,” Louis insists, because he can tell Michael is humouring him.

Michael takes his hands, stroking the fine skin of the inside of his wrists, and tracing the delicate bones. “Louis, are you happy with me?” he asks, simple and straightforward.  

Louis doesn’t hesitate.  “Yes.”

“And I’m happy with you.” Michael brings their hands to his mouth and kisses Louis’ knuckles. “If that ever changes, we’ll talk about it then, OK?”

Louis nods with downcast eyes. “OK.”

“But odds are against that.” Still holding Louis’ hands in his own, he leans in to give him a peck on the nose. “You’re too lovely.”

Louis wrinkles his nose with a weak laugh. “You have to stop doing that,” he protests.

“Kissing your nose, or telling you how wonderful you are?” Michael asks with a grin.

“Both.” Louis gets on his tiptoes to pepper Michael’s face with kisses, making him laugh, before he stops Louis in order to secure a proper kiss.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he says, taking Louis’ hand again. “I can’t wait for tonight, by the way—I’ve been looking forward to hearing you on your new guitar,” he adds as they start walking down the street. “It’s beautiful.”

Louis breaks into a smile, eyes crinkled. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Mhm. Like you.”

Michael's tone is playful but genuine, and Louis ducks his head bashfully. “Shush,” he says, biting back a smile. When he peeks up, he catches Michael staring at him with small, absent smile and tenderness in his eyes.  
“I love you,” he tells Louis simply. And then, his smile widening: “Today. Probably tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that, and—”

They barely manage to kiss from smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Andrea Gibson's poem, [The Madness Vase.](http://apoemaday.tumblr.com/post/103482324875/the-madness-vasethe-nutritionist)


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